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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 




































Elizabeth of England 

91 ©ramattc Romance 

IN FIFE PARTS 

BY 

N. S. Shaler 

t! 

PROFESSOR OF GEOLOGY IN HARVARD UNIVERSITY 

II. 



I. The Coronation 

II. The Rival Queens 

III. Armada Days 

IV. The Death of Essex 

V. The Passing of the Queen 


The 


Rival Queens 


By 

N. S. Shaler 



BOSTON AND NEW TORE 
Houghton, Mifflin and Company 
Cjje Rtoersfoe press, Camfcrtop 
1903 


THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two Copies Received 

MOV 7 1903 

Copyright Entry 

(HA. 

CLASS 0_ XXo. No. 

‘J / <T U 


L 


COPYRIGHT I9O3 BY N. S. SHALER 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
PUBLISHED NOVEMBER I903 


PROLOGUE 


EHOLD 

This vast procession of a noble life 
Where troops the host the Almighty 
doth command 
To march beneath one banner: there ’s the front 
Of valiant arms that breaks the straight way on ; 
And there the priests of wisdom looking far; 
Along with them the graces garlanded. 

The jesters with their antics, rustic churls 
Usurping place by betters, mayhap knaves 
Who hide them in the pageant. All as one 
They march on to the end. The common see 
After their mind, — soldier, or sage, or fool, 
Scoundrel or hero ; while the wise behold 
And marvel at God’s doing when He wills 
To send His semblance in a mortal life 
Unto this needy world. 



DRAMATIS PERSONAE 


Duke of Norfolk. 

Earl of Leicester. 

Earl of Sussex. 

Lord Himes. 

Lord Paget. 

Sir William Cecil. 

Sir William Petrie. 

Sir Walter Ralegh. 

Sir Philip Sidney. 

Sir Francis Walsingham. 

Arthur Petrie. 

Clod. 

Davison. 

Old John, Servant of the Queen. 

Gentleman. 

Four Gentlemen, Companions of Lord Paget. 
Officer. 

Chamberlain. 

Usher. 

Messenger. 

Surgeon. 

Keeper of Carlisle Castle. 

Warder of Carlisle Castle. 


Dramatis Personae 


Captain of Guard. 

Steward. 

Porter. 

Duke of Anjou. 

French Ambassador. 

Spanish Ambassador. 

Queen Elizabeth. 

Mary, Queen of Scots. 

Katherine Ashley. 

Ladies in Waitings Courtiers , Attendants , 
CitizenSy Guards . 



THE 

Rival Queens 

ACT FIRST 

SCENE I 

Shore of Solway Firth ; near by , a boat . 
Mary of Scotland, Lord Himes, Attendants. 
Mary. 

S there no way but this? Yon sea is 
wild. 

Himes. Faith, madam, wilder 
chance awaits us here : 

Those faithful to you lie on yonder field ; 

We soon shall find like end unless we fly. 

Mary. What ’s then to hope within my 
cousin’s realm ? 

Himes. At least the moment’s safety, and the 
chance 

Of faith that is dead here. This troubled sea, 



2 The Rival Queens 

For all its hunger, knows what mercy is ; 

It hath fair havens ; and its waters part 
True folk from false. 

Mary. How will they greet us there ? 

If we would hence we should count with the 
foes 

To whom we flee, as with those left behind : 

You know them well. 

Himes. I know that they are men. 

And you a woman who may bid men do 
Your will, whatever else should make with them; 
That you are here proves that. Your crown is 
lost. 

But not the sceptre that doth rule men’s hearts. 
You ’ll enter there as shipwrecked, claiming help ; 
Much cometh after. 

Mary. Dare they follow us ? 

Himes. Nay, that they will not venture : 
they ’ll be spent 

In our undoing. You’ll have chance to win 
The better if they chase us, for the blows 
That beat them back will ring our welcome in. 
Mary. The hosts of Dacres and Northumber- 
land 

Are true to us by faith and friendship’s ties ; 

Beside them there ’s a throng who bear her chains 


The Rival Queens 3 

And glad would break them. If it but begin, 

’T will be a game betwixt us for a throne. 

So God may guide it. Those who seek to crush 
May send us victory. 

Himes. Amen, my Queen. 

Now we must forth ; for see, o’er yonder hill 
Comes on their van, whelming the few who stand 
To give you safety. There is storm before, 

But at its worst peace to what ’s left behind. 

[ They put out to sea . 
End of Scene. 


SCENE II 

Room in Cecil’s House. 

Cecil and Walsingham. 
Walsingham. What comes from o’er the sea ? 
Cecil. The open tale 

Is all of peace : our sometime foes o’erfill 
Our ears with greetings ; France and Spain alike 
Beseech our Queen as consort for their heirs. 

So we be happy shepherds, piping free 
In fields that fear no wolves. 

Wal. But what ’s behind ? 

Cecil. The ancient tale of how the seal is set 


4 The Rival Queens 

Upon the long writ parchment that shall end 
Our paltering with Rome. So we are now 
Commended to the pit ; our realm the prize 
Of whoso hurls us in. 

Wal. This is stale news : 

The ink has faded while the parchment stayed. 
Awaiting seal he dared not set till now. 

Our people of Rome’s faith have half forgot 
His sometime mastery. J T is idle wind. 

Cecil. There are gales enough without it for 
our ship 

To wrestle with. We ’ll dare straightforward 
waves. 

But this cross sea may strain us. 

Wal. Yet you have 

The master’s art for faring amid ills 
To daunt most helmsmen. 

Cecil. There *s another cloud 

Uprising in the north : the Scottish Queen 
Hath scaped her prison, and with Argyle sets 
In arms against her son. While she ’s afoot 
We dare not reckon ; we can only wait 
For things past fancying. 

Wal. That 9 s worth a score 

Of Roman doings to our good or ill; 

You ’ll shape it for our gain. 


5 


The Rival Queens 
Cecil. It is enough 

To shape one Tudor’s deeds : how now with two 
To fend from ruin will pass craft of man. 

Worst of it all, when comes the chance to strike 
Ours stays the sword, cries mercy for her foe. 
Grim Fate, who sowed earth’s field with dragons’ 
teeth, 

Chanted of mercy while his seed he flung ; 

But well he knew his work. 

Wal. She loves the game 

Too well to lift the pieces she hath won, 

Lest that should bring the finish. We must show 
The menace of her rival to this realm : 

For that she ’ll do what else would stay undone. 
Cecil. What she will do God knows alone, 
and we 

Must wait that doing, shape it as we may. 

And trust it fit the next chance. So we till 
Our field by hazards. 

Wal, Yet we harvest well. 

She as the sun doth quicken all our earth 
To fecund offerings of corn and tares, 

With you the husbandman to nip and tend. 

Cecil. Nay, nay, we dare not lull us with self 
praise 

Or with this show of friendliness abroad. 


6 


The Rival Queens 


The need of all this world is that we die. 
For we are foes to all beyond the seas 
And to the half of those we count our folk. 
You know this sorry truth. 


Wal. 


Ay, it is true. 


5 T is a hard picture, one to daunt the best 
Who had not seen how year by year we win 
Some bit of added safety, and how she 
Hath more than fortune in her matchless skill 
To turn all fatefalls, take what shape they may, 
To naught or profit. 


Enter Usher. 


Usher. My lords, the Queen awaits her coun- 
cillors. 

Cecil. The time is strange : our tasks were 
done this eve. 

Sure ’t is the morrow ? 

Usher. Nay, my lords, ’t is now. 

An hour gone there came from out the north 
Post who rode hard ; swift she his letters scanned. 
And as she read she sent to bid ye come. 

Cecil. Ho, from the north ! We reckoned 
wind from thence ; 

Mayhap we 'll find it biting. 



End of Scene . 


The Rival Queens 


7 


SCENE III 

Whitehall Palace. 

Elizabeth, her Council, an Officer from 
Carlisle . 

Elizabeth. My lords, we ’ve bidden ye to hear 
great news ! 

The Scottish Queen hath broken from her gaol. 
Swift ranked her men in arms to be borne down 
By Murray’s host. Straight fleeing from that fight. 
Chased hard for thirty leagues, she dares the sea ; 
In night and tempest wins way to our shore ; 

And sets her on our castle at Carlisle. 

The rest this man will tell us ; of his faith 
We judge right well : he ’s proved it by his speed. 
’T is fit ye question him. 

Cecil [to Officer]. How long in arms 
Have you seen service ? 

Officer. Since I could them bear. 

Cecil. And with what master served ? 
Officer. With Bedingfield. 

Cecil. That proves you soldier trained to see 
the truth 

And tell it straightly. Give us now the tale. 
Officer. My lords, I kept the night watch by 
the sea, 


8 The Rival Queens 

Awaiting naught to come from that wild deep, 
Yet watching for what might. At length there rang 
The cries of men who mid the breakers drowned ; 
Full soon a broken boat was flung ashore, 

And then a happier came surging in 
Upon a roaring wave and set its keel 
Over the wreck and corses of its mate. 

It held a score of men who bore the mark 
Of much stout fighting, — weary, wounded, bowed, 
As are the best when beaten. They scarce stirred 
To greet their safety till their Queen stood forth 
And bade them follow her. 

Eliz. How showed she there ? 

Officer. My liege, so like yourself our hearts 
beat swift 

At once with joy and fear. Our lanthornes showed 
What well her words had told, — one born to 
might. 

The firmer for worst peril. 

Eliz. Is she fair ? 

Officer. My Queen, I have said that in telling 
how 

We were amazed. Ay, she is natured so 
That men do catch their breath who look on her, 
And clutch in vain for wits. 

Eliz. 


You hold your own 


The Rival Queens 9 

Right well for courtly phrasing. What came then 
Of later doing ? 

Officer. So soon her men were shaped, 

She questioned me and bade me greeting send 
Unto our warder, saying Scotland’s Queen 
Besought asyle within her sister’s realm ; 

Then bade me lead the way. 

Eliz. Seemed she cast down ? 

Officer. Nay, she was pale but firm. Her 
blazing eyes 

Looked through the dark as if she saw afar 
Into this realm ; while on her lips a smile 
Showed play of pleasant fancies in her mind. 

And as we went she whirled my clumsy head 
With praise and compliment of all our land 
From sovereign mistress to her servant here. 

Eliz. Ye saw not, then, the woman who had 
slain 

Her spouse by foul contriving ? 

Officer. Nay, my Queen, 

I saw a woman so divinely fair 
She seemed an angel. 

Eliz. From heaven or from hell ? 

Officer.. My liege, we ask not whence an 
angel comes : 

That question is for priests. 


io The Rival Queens 

Eliz. Well said, my knight ; 

Thou art a man. Thou hast a nimble tongue, 
And nature that doth fit full well thy kind. 

Officer. My Queen, I am a man ; and so I 
stay 

Beside the fairer angel well content. 

Eliz. Yea, this is brave, whatever else it be. 
That woman bursts her prison ; gathers hosts 
From midst her gaolers ; loses in the fight ; 

Scapes thirty leagues of peril ; dares the sea ; 

And, when it spurns her to my shore, stands up, 
Unshaken Queen, with eyes that look afar. 

And wit to win there in the woman's way. 

You will grant that, my lords. 

Cecil. Ay, that and more : 

But for one other, she of all this world 
Would be the matchless in the art of arts 
That bids men do whate’er the sovereign wills 
Because they cannot else. So she is here 
Beneath this roof! [To Officer.] How was it 
when ye came 
Unto the hold ? 

Officer. There too she won her way 

As with us on the strand, by grace that claimed 
An eager service, giving thanks with quest 
As if to ask were having. So she bides 


The Rival Queens ii 

The mistress of that castle and its folk. 

They be but soldiers rude, yet there she ’s safe ; 
For every man will give his life for her. 

Yea, did she will it, they would bear her back 
And crown her once again upon her throne 
For all the Scots could do. 

Eliz. She looks not there. 

But other ways to win. Know yet the folk 
That she is with them ? 

Officer. We did what we could 

To keep her coming close, — set guards and 
swore 

All to be secret ; yet as south I rode, 

Far in the night I saw from castled hills 
Of Nevills, Percys, Dacres flaring high 
The bale fires’ call to arms, and heard the rush 
Of swift horsed couriers shouting ‘ She is here ! ’ 
Hard as I rode, I could not head that flame ; 

For from the churches’ towers forth the bells 
Swung out their trumpet mouths unto the moon 
And back unto the darkness. 4 At each stroke. 

As from the devil’s anvil, forth there flew 
Fierce sparke to kindle in the hearts of men. 

Wal. Yea, we may see it was no moment’s 
plan, — 

Sham battle and sham fight to set her here 


12 The Rival Queens 

Where else she dared not come. *T is well con- 
trived 

As ever wile of war. 

Eliz. Yet she but asks 

We give her safeguard on her way to France, — 
Help to a hapless Queen. 

Wal. So might the spark 

Ask safeguard of the powder. On that way 
She ’d fire the trains they Ve laid ; or if by chance 
We bring her to the sea, she would leave here 
A myriad who have caught the malady 
Of maddening love she scatters in her train, 
Turning the wise to fools. 

Eliz. What would you then ? 

She ’s of our line ; she is a sister Queen. 

’T is double bond for all the hate we share. 

Speak, Cecil : you have weighed this ere it came ; 
You need not ponder longer. 

Cecil. Oh my Queen, 

’T is long writ in our books that she should come 
For nearer torment thus within your land 
By some way past foreseeing. What ’s to do ? 

It is to do the least we may contrive, 

For every action swells the argument 
Leading to other deeds. If it were mine 
To order this, quick I would have her back 


The Rival Queens 13 

To those who know she ’s best within a cage. 

She is an untried felon ; send her there 
To face her judge. 

Eliz. You know that is unfit. 

Cecil. Fit to God’s justice, not to mercy due 
From His anointed. If bide here she must, 

’T is best within that hold she ’s made her own. 
There close her in with guards that we have proved : 
We’ll wait the chance that she flee whence she 
came ; 

Or else — some happy cast may give the quell. 

Eliz. ’T is a hard council so to crib a Queen, 
Scaped from her traitorous subjects, praying help 
From kindred sovereign, thus within a cell 
When she hath welcome craved. [To Council .] 
Tell me, my lords, 

What place is this, — my castle of Carlisle ? 

Wal. ’T is a strong hold set in a barren land. 
An ancient fortress fit to stand hard siege 
For half a year. Whoever would assail 
Must hold the narrow sea that gives it port. 

If war must come ’t would centre thus afar 
And to our vantage, for the Scots would aid. 

I go with Cecil. Fence her where she is, 

And wait until this story is twice told 
And lacks the spell of newness. 


14 The Rival Queens 

Eliz. Yea, but see 

The counsel that ye lend us springs from fear ; 

We cannot make it ours. 

Cecil. Hear me, my liege : 

Your servants honor that which moves ye thus 
To greet your cousin in the regal way, 

But they see writ upon your house’s wall 
The mortal peril of this throne and land 
That but for girt of seas and warding ships 
Were now a helpless province of hard Spain. 

We battle for our safety with strong men, — 

But few against a host. If hap we win, 

’T will be by skill to catch each moment’s good 
And fend each moment’s evil, such as comes 
In this invasion of your rival queen. 

Would she had brought the arms of France and 
Spain 

For fair decision with our valiant folk 
On fields where men would fight for firesides : 
That were swift work and sure ; here we must 
creep 

Amid a jungle, ready for the spring 
Of tiger native to the tangled ways. 

Eliz. Yea, Cecil, thou art keen upon a trail. 

I see the craft of it. In my own soul 
There is a touch of kinship in this deed ; 


The Rival Queens 15 

So I had done it had it been my lot 
To know no men but knaves. To slay a spouse 
And give my hand unto a paramour ! 

Let her be well shut in. Make good her life 
Where she would give us other surety. 

Be ready for the traitors of the north. 

Cecil. So long they lack their banner in their 
hands 

They will go doubtingly. We shall win time. 

So too with France and Spain, — they’ll wait to 
see 

The next move on the board. If we play well. 
She may give check to many a well laid game. 
Eliz. There ’s grief before us, Cecil. 

Cecil. Ay, my liege, and shame : 

Such tangles bring kings both ; such they must 
bear 

To save their realms. It is their sovereign part 
To take what comes and shape it for all time. 
Plain men may do their will with fatal chance 
And toss their lives away when they mislike 
To lift their sorry loads ; but they the crowned 
Need porters’ backs ; must ask not what they bear 
For scanty pay in becks. 

Eliz. Oh, thou art grim 

To strip our gauds and show our crown of thorns. 


16 The Rival Queens 

Cecil. Still it is golden, jewelled, set by God 
Where, please Him, it shall stay to grace our lives 
And make us blessed to a folk unborn. 

End of Scene. 


SCENE IV 

Council Chamber at Whitehall. 
Walsingham and Officer. 
Walsingham. Here are the answers to your 
messages, 

But there is else, we trust, - — true faith and wit 
Such as you ’ve showed us, — in the story told 
So that we see all clear. 

Officer. ’T was a brief tale, 

Conned as I rode that it might tell itself 
Without asides or slips. 

Wal. Would all were so. 

Thus be it with the task we ’d have you do : 

As you ride north, go deviously and slow, 

Bide here and there awhile, and in these holds 
Writ in this list [giving paper ]. Confess you are 
from us, 

And know the sorrow which lies on our hearts 
For her misfortunes ; that you greetings bear 


The Rival Queens 17 

And welcome good unto this sheltering land ; 

That we have sent more force that she be safe 
’Gainst new assailings of her treacherous foes. 
Awaiting time when she have chance to strike, — 
And this in answer to Lord Murray’s call 
That we should render her unto his hands. 

If need at price of war. 

Officer. Is all this true ? 

Wal. Ay, haply all is true, true to the word ; 
Would that it were as true in prophecy 
As ’t is in purpose. We would have her back. 

So this strange story be a border tale 
With no far consequence. 

Officer. I ’ll do your will. 

Wal. Seek that they read this as an accident, 
A mere day’s doing to be quick undone 
Upon the morrow. 

Officer. But we know it else 

And they as well. ’T is idle to deny 
The shape it hath. I cannot serve you there. 

Nor will it help your plan. 

Wal. Oh my brave man, 

You little know how quick men are to seize 
On chance words for the shaping of their thought, 
So they but have the smack of secrets won 
From those who dwell by thrones. But go you on. 


18 The Rival Queens 

Tell that which is : it hath the face to hold 
The doubters silent, and the traitor doubts 
The sky above. Farewell. 

Officer. Farewell, my lord. [ Exit Officer. 

Wal. [• writing on tablets ]. So set him down, — 
good for straightforward deeds 
Brave, trusty, swift, and clear; unfit to serve 
Where men need all men have of wit and way. 
The fellow might have helped us to be safe 
Against a rising. Yea, but he ’ll help still : 

His very truth may stand where lies would fail, 
For in his manly port is that to hold 
Knaves to be faithful, traitors though they be. 

So, tablets, take it that he is a man ; 

The rest needs not the writing. 


End of Act First . 


AC? SECOND 

SCENE I 

The Palace at Whitehall. 
Elizabeth and Council. 

Elizabeth. 

HAT brings my mentor ? 

Cecil. Evil deeds, my Queen. 

Eliz. So yesterday and morrow by 
the load 

Of fardels on thy back. Come, let us have 
The sins they bear, so that they lighter be : 

Out with the gravest. 

Cecil. This from over sea 

Tells how that Alva hath smote hard our friends, 
Our only friends. And this the Huguenots 
Have fallen through dissentions to dismay. 

This other that our sometime friend of Spain, 
Who long hath barred the way of Rome to us, 
Doth stand aside and bids him slip his wolves. 

Eliz. God’s mercy ! there is burthen for a king 
If he were Samson and Methusalem joined ! 

What have you, Walsingham, to o’ertop this ? 



20 The Rival Queens 

Walsingham. I would, my liege, it were the 
light of morn. 

Alas ! it weighs with that which Cecil brings. 

For these long years the northern lords have 
watched 

Those silent walls that hold your rival queen, 
Awaiting chance to set her on your throne. 

That failing, they have put their men afield 
To bring dictation here. 

Eliz. With Norfolk’s aid ? 

Wal. Ah, that you know ? 

Eliz. So much, — that he is here 

In company of guards who pressed our suit 
That he would grace this court. 

Wal. You guess his plan ? 

Eliz. We spell it from his follies : ’t is to wed 
The Jezebel and with her win our throne. 

He is our kinsman ; we can reckon him. 

They all have caught that itch. 

Wal. What you divine 

Hath cost me time and gold to bring to proof. 
Eliz. Well spent, my lord; our fancies are not 
proof, 

Though they may serve to ward. What force have 
they ? 

Wal. Some thousand yeomen and some score 
of knights ; 


21 


The Rival Queens 

Raw men but good, so they have time to shape 
Their host for deeds. 

Eliz. [to Sussex]. We must not give them time. 
You know our purpose, Sussex, — go straight on. 
Smite hard ; we need to stamp this fire out 
So never wind may blow it back to flame. 

Make there a winter that will nip the root 
That sprouts this treason. Send the leaders here ; 
Our warder hath prepared him for five score. 

[Exit Sussex. 

Wal. Scarce half so many are of better sort; 
The most hang back. 

Eliz. The better way to hang, 

As we shall show them. Is Carlisle set strong. 
Well garrisoned for hard war ? 

Wal. Ay, my Queen ; 

Since she lodged there it ’s ready for the worst. 

Eliz. Send our best ship to wait in nearby port. 
Have it proclaimed that on the threat of siege 
She sails in it away to unknown lands 
To queen it as she may with savages. 

Cecil. Our liege goes far. 

Eliz. Yea, Cecil, fast and far; 

This is no time for waiting. She shall learn 
Deeds beget deeds, — that while we parley long 
We can strike swiftly. Summon Norfolk here. 


22 


The Rival Queens 
Enter Norfolk. 

Welcome, our cousin ; we have bid you come 
To have your counsel and what else we need 
Concerning our fair sister of Carlisle. 

Your broad lands reach to there ; so well you know 
By trusty telling of how she doth bear 
The flouts that fate and we its instrument 
Have put on her ? 

Norfolk. ’Tis told, my liege, she’s worn; 
She ’s sore cast down and ill. 

Eliz. Ah, that ’s a grief, 

For Mary Stuart should be up and well. 

If ever God hath shaped a mortal frame 
For joying in this earth. He made it hers. 

Her beauty stays ? 

Norfolk. ’T is said, my Queen, she ’s fair. 
But sorely bowed beneath the weight of wrongs 
This world ’s laid on her. 

Eliz. How to lay them off? 

Will she to trial that may wash the stain 
Of consort’s blood from her ? 

Norfolk. Nay, nay, my liege, 

She ’s God’s anointed, — set above all judge 
Save Him alone, or those her sovereign peers 
Who know the parlous burthen of a crown. 

Her fate is in your hands. 


The Rival Queens 23 

Eliz. What should be done ? 

Norfolk. Give her enlargement ; set her where 
'tis fit 

Amid your kindred ; let her life go out 
On the fair tide of days, her sins assoiled 
In gentle deeds and noble penitence. 

Eliz. You judge not that she would her wed 
again 

With some pretender and so seek our throne 
In double right of faith and lineage, 

Thus binding England to the crown of France 
As she tied once her realm ? 

Norfolk. Nay, nay, my Queen. 

She is a child of sorrow. She but asks 
The grace of air and sun, therein to die 
Away from all this torment life hath sent. 

I know her not, and yet I trust that well. 

Eliz. ’T is strange, ’t is strange ! Whoever 
quits that dame 

Comes forth with winsome tale to win our tears. 
Norfolk. Yea, would you speak with her your 
heart would melt 

As hath my own at hearing of her woes. 

Eliz. Oh, so it would, and quick would go my 
faith. 

For she doth shape all liars. 


24 The Rival Queens 

Norfolk. How now, my Queen ? 

Eliz. Your grace avers that she would play^the 
nun 

Sick of earth’s pomps, that I may sleep in peace 
With her bed next mine own. Oh Norfolk, Nor- 
folk, [To Wal. 

Give me that docket. See, my cousin, here 
Is stuff to spin the stoutest sovereign’s head, — 
The proof that thou wouldst marry with that 
bawd 

And claim my throne when I am swept away 
By thy accomplished treason, no mere whim 
Of vagrant mind. Thy fellows are afoot, 

So too the arms to crush them. There must die 
Some thousands of my folk because the Lord 
In His strange wisdom bade thee be a fool. 
Norfolk [kneeling]. My gracious Queen — 
Eliz. Nay, my poor fool, stand up 

And keep thy prattle for thy judges’ ears. 

Thy Queen grieves for thee : yea, how couldst 
thou stand 

Against that devil’s wiles ? [To Guards.] Bear 
him away ; 

They wait him in the Tower. Keep him safe. 
And yet in kindness. Ah, poor fool, poor fool ! 

[Exit Norfolk with Guards. 


The Rival Queens 25 

[To Cecil.] Thus for the present danger. Now 
we 'll go 

To face the further. Philip thinks he 's won 
Against his rebels so that he may dare 
To bear us down. We 'll find him room for doubt; 
We 'll send them men and gold. There still is fire 
A little wind of favour wakes to flame. 

Leicester shall captain, and with Sidney's aid 
Give good account and bid our brother know 
What welcome waits him here. 

Leicester. Yea, dear my liege, 

That is my heart's desire. We 'll win a realm 
To grace your crown. 

Eliz. That realm we will not have ; 

We lack the men to hold it. We can spare 
To stay their doing scant five thousand men. 

Leic. 'T is but enough to threaten, not to 
smite. 

Eliz. 'T is as you wield it ; we need prove your 
skill 

And see if you be fit to marshal men 
And win all of their might ; for in this land 
No one of us has showed he has the art 
To lead the host that we shall have to rank 
Upon our fields before our task is done. 

You are all else, my Robert, prove us this. 


26 The Rival Queens 

The school is good ; the price will not be grudged, 

So you come back the master for that work. 

Leic. It is too few. 

Eliz. A legion, if thy soul 

Sets Caesar at its head. Zounds ! ’t is enough : 
Five thousand mother’s sons for you to stake ; 

Five thousand crofts to darken if you lose. 

We ’ll spare no more, and dare not think of these, 
Lest we repent us. 

Leic. We will risk the chance, — - 

Eliz. Risk only what the cautious player stakes. 
Bring back yourself in honour and acclaim. 

Bring Sidney back : this land doth hold him dear 
With love that ’s told in expectations high 
Of glorious deeds to come. Quick with your task, 
So that the morrow find you on the sea. 

Come to us with your captains for farewell. 

[Exit Leicester. 
[To Cecil.] How is it with that question of my 
heir, — 

Hath it a part in all our troubles still ? 

Cecil. In all it is the sorest, for men see 
Twixt them and ruin but a mortal life, — 

A life that ’s strong and brave with promise good 
Of noble years to come, yet but the life 
Men learn to count as bubble on the deep. 


27 


The Rival Queens 
In every hut and palace of this land 
They reckon what’s to come, swing swords and 
wits 

In fancied deeds that touch on treachery 
Even when faith is true. The Queen of Scots 
Is hated as you ’re loved. For all her wiles 
Her name ’s a hissing ; yet she hath a son, 

And in him is the blood of our old kings. 

There be those living who ’ve from sires heard 
The woes that came a hundred years ago 
In battle for your throne. 

Eliz. Yea, ever so. 

Guard as ye may, men battle for the place 
To creep into the sun. What chance have I 
To give succession that will not mean war 
Sent on this state ? 

Cecil. Within your realm, my Queen, 

There are fair men and nobler far than kings, 
With names as ancient and of fame more pure. 
Would you had chosen there. 

Eliz. Nay, Cecil, nay, 

To wed a subject were to bring us shame 
And turn our life awry. Remember how 
I swore to wed my people if they came 
To save me from that pit. One task ’s undone, — 
Our answer to Rome’s bishop. Should he dare 


28 The Rival Queens 

To send that message, see we quickly know ; 

We have another for him. 

Cecil. What may it be ? 

Eliz. A woman’s answer ; you will find it pat. 
Enough of traffic ! We ’ve a mind for sport. 

Hast thou heard aught of Anjou ? 

Cecil. That he waits 

Now overlong your answer to his suit. 

And so doth doubt your purpose. 

Eliz. Bid him here : 

His presence will serve well to halt our foes. 

End of Scene . 

SCENE II 

Palace at Whitehall. 

Elizabeth, Cecil, and Attendants. 
Elizabeth. Now comes the sorry part when 
forth we send 

Our best for earth’s worst use, to stain its fields 
And rack our hearts. 

Cecil. What better part, my Queen, 

Is there for man than doing valorous deeds, 

Lifting his bit of earth to endless day 
By casting it as seed to bless our fields ? 

We sow to reap. 

Eliz. 


Nay, Cecil, we would spend, 


The Rival Queens 29 

As you know well, when thrift doth bid us fling 
Our gold or men ; yet with a sparing hand. 

For they are wealth for saving. Ask the Lord 
For what He made this world, and if you hear 
It was for waste and slaughter, know you well 
You have the devil’s answer to your quest. 

We ’ve half a mind to stay this going forth 
And chance what comes. 

Cecil. Nay, that ’s impossible : 

Our actions are proclaimed, the good news runs 
As new blood to the heart of your brave folk. 

All that we risk were better lost than that 
We’d lose by such undoing. 

Eliz. ’T is the way 

We enter on with war. We cannot turn 
To save our souls, for Satan is behind. 

Whipping our heels with his ‘ impossible ’ 

To goad us in his fold. 

Enter Sir Philip Sidney. 

Cecil [aside\. Sir Philip comes! 

A timely coming that may save our faith 
From this last shifting. 

Eliz. [aside J. Yea, here is a man ! 

A shape to wear a hundred years away, 

The grace to form an age in courtesy, 

A wit to sway this folk and send them on 


30 The Rival Queens 

Beyond our knowing. \To Sidney.] Welcome, 
Sidney, here. 

Where is Lord Robert ; comes he not to us ? 
Sidney. My liege, he stays awhile so he may 
bring 

All things a-ready for the evening’s tide. 

I am his herald, saying that he ’s here 
So soon and swift as duty will allow ; 

Nought else had checked him. 

Eliz. How it is with ye ? 

Sidney. All is prepared, our troops are now aship. 
Ah, you should hear the roars they interchange 
With comrade hosts that bide upon the land 
And shout with note of sorrow that they stay. 
Would that you saw the happy farers throng 
Upon the masts and castles with wide eyes 
That stare across the sea whereto their hearts 
Go on before them ! 

Eliz. Yea, we see it well, — 

Well as we dare, for if we knew it near 
We ’d share the infectious ill. 

Sidney. Ay, my dear liege, 

’T is well for us that ye bide here apart 
From these fierce crazes: once they seize the soul 
They hold it hard. The devil is the lord 
When men set them to slaying brother men. 


The Rival Queens 31 

Eliz. And yet you willing go ? 

Sidney. Willing, my Queen. 

I go to stay the worse. The might of Spain 
Needs be close shorn. When this good task is 
done 

I ’ll seek my Arcady in this dear isle. 

Eliz. So you still dream of peace while this 
near war 

Sends blood a-bounding through your eager limbs ? 
’T is but a phrase. 

Sidney. My liege, the soldier true 

Fights ever for his loved Arcady, 

Be it a cot or realm. 

Eliz. He fights for dreams. 

See, by our river, far away the hills 
Lean to the wave like necks of beasts who drink 
Their fill from its cool waters. All the way 
Unto the close of sight are fields where men 
Stoop in their toil with never look to sky. 

But just beyond, where we have never been, 

Our Arcady begins, and thence to sea 
Dwell other folk as men should on this earth, 

In the sun’s radiance and the joy it sends 
To hearts that know the blessed gifts of day. 

Yet must we not to them, for if we do 


32 The Rival Queens 

Our sight would make them what we ourselves 
are, — 

Mere slaves of evil fate. 

Sidney. Oh no, my Queen ; 

Ye see but fancied image of my realm, 

And not its substance. ’T is where dwell true men 
In perfect knowing of the truth they live, 

Each linked to other in enduring peace 
As are the steadfast stars, with never war, 

Because their course is nature’s, and they bend 
In reverence to the law that gave them birth. 

So do our best to-day ; so shall they all 
When all see by God’s light. 

Eliz. Nay, Sidney, nay. 

This world is made of stone ; we scratch its crust 
In little deeds to find deep adamant. 

Setting us narrow bounds. So ’t is with man : 

He is like hard : a little surface gives ; 

But in the core is still what only yields 
To sledge and bar and thews that know their trade. 
You go to prove this by war’s ancient use. 

Come back to us and we ’ll mayhap essay 
Your method strange of moulding this hard earth 
To Phidian grace and noble gentleness, — 

Stay you not there. 

Sidney. Yea, I shall come, my Queen. 


33 


The Rival Queens 
If not in mortal shape I ’ll come to thee 
In the far Arcady that shall not fade 
When we behold it. [Exit Sidney. 

End of Scene. 


SCENE III 

Audience Hall at Whitehall. 

Queen, Spanish Ambassador, Cecil, Walsing- 
ham. 

Elizabeth. Your excellency hath word for 
us, — to tell 

How our good brother Spain would greet us here ? 
There ’s rumour of his coming in full state 
Once more to us. 

Ambassador. Your majesty doth jest. 

Eliz. If so it is to cover our sore heart 
With the frayed mantle of dear memories ; 

For we were friends. 

Ambas. How came ye to be else 

Save by your people’s doing ? 

Eliz. Yea, it came 

As other ills have come, — by sorry chance 
And greed of this world’s gauds, of dirty earth 
Or villain spoil of sea. 

Ambas. You lightly count 


34 The Rival Queens 

Our tale of bitter griefs, — of pirates nursed. 

Of ravished towns and rebel arms well stayed 
By your command. 

Eliz. And shall we count as naught 

That your king grasps the seas and dares to set 
Bounds to the noble gifts of Providence 
For good of man ? That he doth cast our folk 
In midnight dungeons when the winds of heaven 
Waft their ships to his seas ? His seas, forsooth ! 
Because Rome’s upstart bishop seeks to dole 
Earth’s realms among his craven worshippers 
So fast as brave men find them. Yea, my lord, 

It ill befits a king who ’s robbed a world 
To quarrel with our sailors when they filch 
Some gleanings from his spoil. 

Ambas. My master ’s borne 

With ye beyond his patience. He will send 
Next question from his cannon. 

Eliz. Hold you there ; 

Your part is courtesy. Come you to threats, 

We ’ll set you in our Tower, there to learn 
Your duty by your master and by us. 

Go now and read this lesson. 

Ambas. I am my king’s. 

Eliz. And ours the nonce. Go quietly : a stir 
Were one more shame. But when you see your 
part, 


35 


The Rival Queens 
Welcome for further parley of this case. 

Sore case it is, and needs the best we know 
Of noble purpose and ripe counselling. 

[Exit Ambassador. 
Walsingham [to Cecil]. Ho, Cecil, saw you 
that? ’T was bravely done; 

His beard hath had a singeing. He ’ll not back ; 
His ship is ready, and he came for flare 
And a fine exit, such as loves a don. 

Cecil. He has his passports written on his ears. 
He brought his guns for audience ; he has heard 
Good echo in the thunder from our wall. 

Enter French Ambassador. 

Here comes a better wit. 

Eliz. Welcome to France, 

Who sends us ever grace and courtesy 
With each fair message. What now bring you 
else 

From our good friend ? 

French Ambassador. Your majesty, my king 
Waits on your sovereign will, and waiting prays 
Ye bid his brother Anjou to your court 
That he may press his suit here at your feet 
As fits the eager lover who doth pine 
With seas between him and his heart’s desire. 
Eliz. Anjou is welcome to our court, to find 


36 The Rival Queens 

A hearty greeting and the love we hold 
For all his house. What else, ’t is his to prove 
In those fair days he brings. Say that each tie 
That links our states is ever to us dear. 

If it be but a greeting, we ’ll rejoice 
To set it so that it may tell the love 
And kinship that knits fast these ancient realms 
For all their woeful wars. Let Anjou come : 

We ’ll meet him at his port with our best ships. 
And on the land give escort of our best, 

And here our English welcome. 

F. Ambas. Oh great Queen, 

Ye lend me favour in my master’s eyes. 

Yet bind his servant helpless to your own. 

Who should stand here apart. 

Eliz. Nay, such apart 

Is for the foes that make pretence as friends ; 

Each may be true to other and himself 
When each is true to friendship. Is there else ? 

F. Ambas. A trifle that lies far from our first 
prayer, 

Now so divinely granted. There are men 
Born in your realm who league with those that set 
As rebels ’gainst our throne. They are the front 
Of all that warring. When our marshals find 
A line that yields not to their best assail. 


The Rival Queens 37 

There roars from it your England’s wild hur- 
rah 

To blow our strength away. 

Eliz. So they fight well ? 

F. Ambas. Yea, far too well. 

Eliz. Would we could keep our sons 

To till our fields and build us ships and towns ; 

But if they fight, we ’d have them fight right 
well. 

Say to your master these our vagrant lads 
Flout their old mother as they hie away 
To spend her precious strength in errant wars. 

For all she set their heads upon her wall, 

Their limbs thus wriggle all the world around. 

Say too he has our truants in his troops 
In numbers great as those who face his arms : 

Let him contrive that each ’gainst other set 
To balance the account. Tell him the tale 
Of how our Irish cats make end of fights, 

Leaving no tail behind. 

F. Ambas. That is a plan ! 

Eliz. And for a better, let us swear that we 
Grave elders will not let our children’s broils 
Stir hate in our true hearts. So let us prove 
That sober kings may scape from childish ways 
And give a meaning to their God-set crowns. 


38 The Rival Queens 

F. Ambas. Oh, would that all this world could 
hear your words : 

*T would stay all battles in the truce of God. 

Eliz. Nay, nay, it would not ; for the Lord 
himself, 

For all His might, cannot that evil stay. 

Yet it is well to preach it : it may catch 
Now here and there a heart. Farewell, my lord, 
And welcome for next greeting to announce 
Your prince upon his way. May it be soon. 

[Exit French Ambassador. 
Cecil. There is one here who comes straight- 
way from Rome, 

Bearing some message. Shall he speak with you ? 
He ’s of our folk and safe ; we know him well. 
Eliz. It is commanded that none such may 
come 

Within our borders, and the pain is death. 

Cecil. Ay, but they come ; *t is well to probe 
their mind 

And have advisement from it. Shall it be ? 

Eliz. In this publicity? 

Cecil. Ay, better here : 

It will mean less. 

Eliz. Here then let him be heard. 

Enter Gentleman. 

You come to us from far ? 


The Rival Queens 39 

Gentleman. Great queen, from far. 

Yet I ’m a subject of this English realm. 

Eliz. Of realm, but not of ruler. That doth tell 
Whose message you bear here. Speak ; you are 
free. 

Say on ; God grant you give us warrant good 
For this truce we have given. 

Gent. My liege, — for still 

You are queen of my heart, — we hold this land 
In a like love, — love that ’s life to us both. 

Eliz. Well said; we’ll hold that true. This 
isle ’s a nest 

Men love because it bore them, and their love 
Calls for their life and honour in all needs. 

If they go far, it is that they bring back 
Fair gifts to show their faith. 

Gent. Yea, there, my queen. 

You give me warrant, for I bring to you 
Fair gift of peace, and offering of love 
From him whom God hath set to guide our 
hearts 

Unto His holy realm. 

Eliz. How stands this peace ? 

Something we ’ve known of old. How is it now ? 
*T is no mere blessing : there are things to do 
Not writ in prayer book, — * Party of first part,’ 


40 The Rival Queens 

And * of the second/ in the legal way. 

The blessing we will crave with down bowed head ; 
That fellow contract we must closely scan 
With head well up for seeing. Give us now 
The pith of it. 

Gent. He asks but that ye leave 

Unto our church no more than chance to live 
And do its office by its ministers. 

Eliz. That means its sometime lands now scat- 
tered far, — 

The homes of half our people. 

Gent. Ah, no more 

Than our old kings here judged fit for the need 
Of those who stayed their lives. 

Eliz. Is that the sum ? 

Gent. Even before Christ came God judged it 
fit 

That men should give a tenth to stay the arm 
That shapes their safety. This our church needs 
own. 

So it have strength for all its blessed work. 

We ask no more than this. 

Eliz. Yet there is else ? 

Gent. Yea, but in sum so small it will not 
weigh 

In kingly scales. To rule our priests and friars 


4i 


The Rival Queens 
There needs a court, a little court where we 
May judge their misdeeds, not against the state 
But ’gainst the church’s law. 

Eliz. Is this then all ? 

Gent. Oh, my good queen, what trifles else 
there be 

We ’d willing leave to concert of fair friends 
Within God’s fold. 

Eliz. How is it with our folk 

Who set against your faith, — what is their lot 
When the old might comes back ? 

Gent. Our holy church 

Has ever mercy for her sons that err ; 

’T is hers to win them back. If they are smote 
For their correction, ’t is not by the church; 

The state alone doth smite. 

Eliz. We might recall 

Some deeds at Smithfield in my sister’s time 
That dwell in minds of men. 

Gent. Alas ! those deeds 

Were not our church’s doing. It condemned 
Alone the heresy. 

Eliz. A certain knave, 

Winchester’s bishop, did the sorry rest. 

Gent. Yet not as bishop, but as chancellor; 

As priest he could not. 


42 The Rival Queens 

Eliz. Ha, ’t is very strange 

How ill we reck of things that we have seen. 

So our dear church knew nought of Smithfield’s 
fires, 

And that good pope, whose shout we heard from 
Rome 

In praise of all that doing, was ill heard ? 

It was his prayer that roared, his prayer for peace 
And gentle dealing with his hapless flock ? 

Or mayhap ’t was as king that he did cry 
‘ Burn, burn/ and not as priest ? But these are 
points 

For clever schoolmen; let us to our own. 

Gent. God grant to end all with a fond accord. 
Eliz. My man, hast ever with a horn essayed 
To down a city’s walls, — walls men have built, 
Deep founded, high, to shield them from their 
foes ? 

Gent. Nay, queen, what question ! 

Eliz. Yea, but it was done 

The once at Jericho. Go try again 
Upon the walls of Rome, and if they down 
To leave its monarch fenceless, we ’ll essay 
Our trumpets on the ramparts we have built 
To save our people from the ills that came 
When Tiber’s king usurped their ancient throne. 


43 


The Rival Queens 
Say to your master : if for sake of souls 
He seeks to enter in our land, we ’ll hail 
His coming with wide arms ; but he must leave 
Sword, purple, ermine, other side of sea. 

We ’ll know him only when he comes as Christ ; 
As king he is defied. 

Gent. Oh, but the end ? 

Eliz. That is the Lord’s to will and ours to 
help. 

Gent. He is the Lord’s vicegerent o’er this 
world ; 

’T is his to set its princes on their thrones 
Or cast them down when they offend the law. 

A judgment comes upon you. 

Eliz. Yea, ’t is well 

Once more to hear this tale so clearly told ; 

For memory scarce clasps the monstrous whole. 
But reads it as a legend. Here is a man 
Born of our land, clear sighted, courtly, wise, 

Who shortly bids me doff the crown I bear 
And give my folk in service to a king 
They smote from out this realm an age agone, 

Or to the pit. My man, who sent thee here ? 
Rome’s bishop ? 

Gent. He who ruleth earthly thrones. 

Eliz. Say to his highness that this queen hath 
heard 


44 The Rival Queens 

His message to the end, and that she gave 
A day of grace to find you past the sea. 

With promise sworn that instant after that 
A judgment comes upon you so your head 
Shall take the sun upon her Tower’s walls. 

\To Attendants .] Show him the way to port. 

[ Exit Gentleman. 
Cecil. You are not shaken ? 

Eliz. Nay, Cecil, I am hot and hard of heart ; 
It is a merry day when two thus dare 
To threat me in my castle. Would my sire 
Were in my stead awhile to face such churls ; 

It would fare ill with them. 

Cecil. There is no need 

Of other than his child to quell these knaves : 

Even the sword is paltry to thy speech. 

But I would know if ought ye heard hath changed 
Your purpose in this question ? 

Eliz. Nay, I see 

In fullest day that it were best to die 
Rather than bend to him. 

Cecil. Amen ! my queen ; 

Ye shall not bend, though there be much to bear 
Ere this is ended. 

Eliz. 

Be what it may. 


May that end come soon. 


The Rival Queens 4.5 

Cecil. Patience, my queen, with days. 

This is a mighty world, and slow unrolls 
The acts that make its tragedies complete ; 

It is all writ within the players’ hearts 
And ready for the action. 

Eliz. Ah, good friend, 

No king had e’er a better in his need; 

My strength is thine. The rest is in our right 
And in the hearts of faithful Englishmen. 

End of Scene . 

SCENE IV 

Elizabeth’s Chamber. 

Elizabeth and Dame Ashley. 
Elizabeth. Dear dame, I am aweary of this 
court : 

Let ’s out of it and to the good old house 
Where we once frolicked with our merry plans 
Of joys to come. 

Ashley. What ails my mistress now ? 

She hath her realm ; she hath her courtiers. 

Her progresses and pageants ; yet she plaints 
Her weariness of days. 

Eliz. Yea, Kate, ’t is shifting show, 

A beaten drum that sounds its emptiness. 


46 The Rival Queens 

One comes with hunger, and the next with hate, 
And all with hearts of steel, — well sharpened steel, 
Tempered with ancient greed to cut its way, 

Be it straight through me. Come, dear nurse, 
let ’s back 

To Hatfield’s roof where thou didst patch and turn 
My poor old gowns and all our state was lean 
Save for its promise of great days to come 
That seemed so wondrous fair. There ’s time for 
phy. 

For I have sacked the blessed pope and Spain 
So that they may not trouble for a while. 

We will be young again. 

Ashley. We need not go 

Out of these gates to find the ail and cure ; 

Ye know it well if ye have memory 
Of ought I tell ye. 

Eliz. Ay, I know your song ; 

Sing it again, for it does take me back 
To that old garden whereto so much came. 

Where so much passed away. 

Ashley. ’T is you are lone. 

Eliz. Ay, that ’s the prelude, Kate ; it sets the 
tune. 

Ashley. Unto a woman’s life 

The Lord doth give one prize, one only prize, — 


The Rival Queens 47 

Love of true man and child born of that love. 
That lacks, and so your crown is made of thorns. 
’T will rend ye ere ye die. 

Eliz. Rank treason, Kate ; 

We’ll have thee in the Tower. 

Ashley. Yea, send me on 

A full step further, so ye mend your ways 
And let me fore I go hold child ye bear 
Where I ’ve held thee. 

Eliz. Ah, thy dear soul, my Kate, 

Is wild about a wedding. It is well 
To help the world along with goodly folk. 

But half are spawned for shame and half for woe. 
There ’s surer helping in the way we take. 

See how the childless masters of great thrones 
Have made their folk their children. 

Ashley. But they were men ; you are a woman 
yet, 

For all that you would play it as a man. 

The women bear, not men. They ’re ordered well 
To do their part and chastened if they fail. 

Ye’ll know the scourge. 

Eliz. Kate Ashley ’s mad : 

She cannot see her Queen hath else to do 
Than any wench she rules. 

Ashley. Ye shall not turn 


48 The Rival Queens 

This speech as oft afore thus jesting by ; 

We ’ll have it out. 

Eliz. Ay, dame, let ’s have it out. 

And then we will to Hatfield for our play 
As good reward for all this tedious toil. 

On with your idle song. 

Ashley. Ye have scorned men. 

Eliz. Nay, Kate, they ’ve done the scorning ; 
to this day 

Whom have I scorned ? 

Ashley. The fairest of this earth, — 

Kings from o’er sea, and our brave gentlemen 
Who die for love of you. 

Eliz. Oh, well you know 

How near the first did bring me to the pit 
By thy contriving. When I think of that 
I ’m like to slay thee, Kate. Save that ’t is old 
And that I know thy craze, I ’d have thy head. 
That sorry knave ! 

Ashley. He was a gallant man, 

Great soldier too, and dying for your love. 

Eliz. For my poor lands and what of chance 
beside. 

A sorry knave. 

Ashley. There is a kinsman here — 

Eliz. Forsooth Lord Robert. Yea, ye know, 
Kate, well 


The Rival Queens 49 

That while he is my twin and dear to me, — 

For we were born together and have gone 
So up life’s hill as merry as we might, — 

He fits not England’s queen. He hath a stain 
That would be blackness in the fearful light 
That beats upon a throne. 

Ashley. ’T is heard ye were 

Most near to him in merry days agone. 

Eliz. Kate Ashley is a shame to decent folk 
With her low grovelling wit. 

Ashley. Nay, nay, I hoped 

That ye might wed and stay our people’s tongue. 
He ’s none the best; good father yet he’d prove. 
Shapely and kind. But he is past the sea. 

Eliz. To prove us how that he can lead our 
men. 

Ashley. Mayhap to prove that he can lead as 
well 

A headstrong woman ? 

Eliz. He will prove him Caesar 

Ere he proves me that. 

Ashley. Hap there be others here 

Who would do well. 

Eliz. Go to ! Ye ’d have me choose 

At a die’s hazard. 

Ashley. Ay, so he be a man 

And fit to mate my queen. 


5 ° 


The Rival Queens 


Eliz. 


Once thou wert wed : 


Did he e’er beat thee, Kate ? 


Ashley. 


Good Lord, for shame ! 


Eliz. And yet he had the right, so that the 
stick 

Were nothing bigger than his wedding ring. 

There ’s ancient law for that, and my dear spouse 
Might lash the part of me that was not queen 
To his content in safety. 

Ashley. So you quirk away, 

And leave it all amiss. 

Eliz. I do, my Kate ; 

Thou knowst that wedding fits not well my folk. 
See what my cousin did, and else, and else. 

I ’d die with fear that I should strangle him 
Ere honeymoon had waned. 

Ashley. Ye know not what 

It is to be a woman and to have 
The Lord’s best gift in honest, faithful man 
True by your side. 

Eliz. That stays a dream, my Kate ; 

I ’ve wed this kingdom and a spouse would be 
Poor second in its house. I have my Kate 
For nearer love than e’er could go to him ; 

So it must rest. 

Ashley [weeping]. Oh, but the child! I’ve 
dreamed it on my knees 


The Rival Queens 51 

These twenty years. Poor ghost, it now must 
die ! 

Eliz. [aside ] . Ah me! this is a deep I did not 
dream. 

Alas, I am no woman, but a thing 
Wherewith to rule a realm. [To Ashley.] Look 
up, my Kate ; 

The morrow Anjou comes again to sue 

Your queen in marriage; thou shalt watch him well: 

Mayhap thou ’It find him fit. 

Ashley. Nay, let me die : 

There is no home for me in this hard world : 

”T is not the realm I knew in those dear days 
When ruled your father. Ye may rule it well ; 
But not for me. 

Eliz. Yea, would that thou wert queen. 

And I were Kate ; then what a merry round 
This realm would dance. With Pope and Spain 
And all the Scots and Irish in the fling, 

And every lass be married to her lad 
With nothing left to sigh for. 

Ashley. Now, ye Ye gay, — 

The merry lass of old ; but soon will come 
The dreary years and no one by your side 
To tell our folk what ye were in your day. 

Eliz. Dear dame, your old eyes look too far 
for me 


52 The Rival Queens 

Into the dark to come. Let us to Hatfield, 

And see where all is sure ; for there all ’s done 
And safely put away. 

Ashley. Turn full into the light : 

My eyes are dim. There, now, thou art the same. 
I ’ll ne’er forget. 

Eliz. Nor I, my Kate. Farewell : 

Thou art the best earth gives me. May I go 
Whither thou goest. 

Ashley. ’T is farewell, my queen. 

End of Scene . 

SCENE V 

Audience Room. Windsor Palace. 
Elizabeth and Attendants. 
Chamberlain. My liege, the prince comes 
here : he is ashore ; 

He should be here this noon. 

Elizabeth. Had he fair welcome ? 

Chamb. Ay, by your ships and trusted men ; 
by folk, 

In silence as when Philip to us came 
To wed your sister, save that here and there 
Some wags made horseplay, or some better men 
Tried for a shout of welcome, which quick 
changed 


The Rival Queens 53 

To other music. Yet ’t was well ; they knew 
He comes upon your bidding. 

Eliz. Could you tell 

How they would take it if he bided here ? 

Chamb. As horse a gadfly that he could not 
reach 

With nose or tail — so as they must — awhile. 
Eliz. Found he no favour with them ? 

Chamb. Those he spoke 

Were quick his friends. But he doth lack the eye 
And shape that goes unto our people’s heart 
And makes them know the lord because they see 
True man within his hide. It better fared 
When he was horsed, for he was master there. 
They cried ‘ the beggar rides right well ’ until 
He set his steed to prance in demivolts 
And backward steps. 

Eliz. They liked not that ? 

Chamb. Nay, that did vex them much, so that 
they cried 

‘ Thou art a monkey, get thee on thy way.’ 

You know, my liege, our folk are wondrous queer. 
Eliz. And yet they are our folk. How near 
is he ? 

Chamb. By this time he is lodged. 

Eliz. Bear you the word 


54 The Rival Queens 

That we await him here. [Exit Chamberlain. 
[Aside . ] So he hath had 

A sorry heralding for lover bent 
Upon his eager way. [To Lady in Waiting.] 
My people cry 

To have me wedded, yet when suitor comes 
They ever flout him so. I am the ward 
Of every yokel in this meddling land. 

Lady. ’T is for their love, my liege, of land 
and you ; 

You ’ve taught them that. 

Eliz. Ay, and I ’ll teach them else ; 

I ’m servant of this realm, but not the slave 
Of all its loons. 

Lady. They fear this coming means 

Far dangers to their faith and liberties, 

For they remember well what Spain brought here. 
Eliz. They know me there. 

Lady. Ay, but, my liege, they know 

That when a woman marries she is wed 
To much she ’d fain not have if she were lone. 
Oh, could ye hear the talk of London town ! 

Eliz. What says my town, forsooth ? 

Lady. In many ways, 

Some hard to hear, it says it will not have 
The prince who comes its king. 


The Rival Queens 55 

Enter Anjou and his T rain . 

Eliz. Welcome, my lord of France, to our 
good land. 

Your presence makes more welcome to our hearts 
All that we had before. Our ancient realms 
Have grown together by their courtesies ; 

But ye now bring the flower of that growth 
And make it summer by your coming here, — 

Of all our year the joy. 

Anjou. My noble queen, 

Whate’er I brought is lost in what I find 
Within your gracious presence. 

Eliz. Good my lord, 

Your wit doth hold fair remnant of your store 
To win your losses back. * 

Anjou. Oh, may it gain 

All that love’s loaded dice can win for me 
Of favour in your eyes. 

Eliz. And so you look 

To chance alone ? 

Anjou My queen, I ’ve looked to all 

A man can muster to his service when 
He ’d save his life from wreck, — have chance to 
gain 

The best earth gives. All that can well be writ, 
With eager love to grace it, hath me failed 


56 The Rival Queens 

For all the hope it bore. I would essay 
What grace my mistress grants unto my prayer. 

Eliz. Ho, that is bravely said, right nobly said : 
Your words have portage that no script can lend, 
Though fairly writ. 

Anjou. Your grace doth give me hope ? 

Eliz. Dear goddess Hope is gracious to us all ; 
But know she never signs her promises : 

They are too airy for the touch of hand. 

Anjou. Yet well I welcome even things of air 
As very substance for good nourishment. 

Long starved as I have been on nothingness 
In sight of noble plenty. 

Eliz. Good my lord. 

We ’ll feast you as we may with what of cheer 
Our land affords, and give you fairest field 
For spinning Fancy’s threads of gossamer 
Into the everlasting bonds of love ; 

The rest is yours to find. 

Anjou. Now may my saints 

Be with me in this trial ! Oh my queen, 

Y ou are the first in all that calendar ; 

To you my prayers shall go. 

Eliz. Nay, nay, my lord ; I ’d never serve as 
saint. 

Alack ! you ’ll find that sinner fits me best ; 

Ask of my court. 


The Rival Queens 57 

Anjou. Nay, if you have a sin 

To set you ’neath the angels, ’tis you leave 
So long your helpless lover thus in air 
’Twixt heaven and earth. 

Eliz. Yet there is gracious room 

Wherein the gayest of this world disport. 

We ’ll dwell there for a while and try our wings 
Before we rest on earth. ’T is easy down, 

But there the pinions fail when we would rise 
Again to fancy’s realm. 

Anjou. That realm is heaven. 

So you but bid me there and with me go 
In Fancy’s court to spin the cords of love 
That shall us bind. 

Eliz. This merry word play ’s dear, 

And yet it must not hold us all our day 
Above the duties of our common lives. 

You ’ve journeyed far, — your hostess bids repose 
To be your portion, so that you may come 
With lightened heart unto her festival 
That shall add grace to welcome. 

Anjou. Oh my queen, 

I pray ye for the grace of certainty. 

Eliz. So much of that you ’ll have as your saints 
grant, 

Or these good sinners of my council board 


58 The Rival Queens 

And the great host that rules us in this land. — 

See this strange realm, my lord, learn how its kings 
Are but the fellow servants of its folk. 

Joined in the common purpose of the state: 

So will you know our heart and hand are bound 
By else than gossamer that we would spin 
Were we a village maiden. 

Anjou. I have of love 

To spare for all that ’s yours, for you make dear 
The land that loves you. If your people give 
But half I send to them we are fast friends. 

Eliz. Know them, for they are mine, my holi- 
est part ; 

And know you doubly welcome for the love 
You send to them. But, for the hour, farewell. 

[Exit Anjou. 

[To Cecil.] What say you of our guest ? 

Cecil. He hath a world of cleverness well 
packed 

Within his meagre body. Would he were 
More king in frame at price of half his wit. 

For that he has to spare. 

Eliz. Yea, he is brave; 

Saw you the dauntless in his merry eyes ? 

There dwells the man. It needs no bulk 
To bear a Cassar. See how swift he 


sprang 


The Rival Queens 59 

Across the moment’s Rubicon to greet 
The fate beyond, so making half way there 
With one good leap of heart. What man of us 
Had done so well in our slow plodding way 
That goes like yoked ox in stubborn field ? 
Contrive it, Cecil, he hath chance to greet 
Our folk in ways that may him favour win, 

And show the might that ’s in him. 

Cecil. Ay, my liege, 

We ’ll give him that, were it but courtesy. 

Our hearts shall help our task ; for they are yours, 
And you would have it so. 

Eliz. Go now away. 

For I would be alone. 

End of Scene. 

SCENE VI 

Chamber of Cecil. 

1 Time : Midnight. 

Cecil and Walsingham. 

Walsingham. What think you of it, Cecil ? 

Cecil. He may win : 

He struck well home and swift, so in an hour 
Where we had been a-fumbling, won good place 
For further vantage, — saw the only way 


60 The Rival Queens 

To catch her fancy was by Fancy’s flights. 

He did it passing well, — sued not too much, 

And yet to win her mind. 

Wal. Caught you the note 

Of gamester in his phrase ? 

Cecil. Ay, he is that, 

And so was Caesar. She saw through his play. 
And liked him better for his clever turns. 

Wit hath just worth with her, and if she loves 
’T will be because the little jewel gleams 
At every touch of light. 

Wal. Then they will wed ? 

Cecil. Nay, that ’s impossible. We ’ll do our 
best 

To make him welcome to our court and folk. 

He will go fast and far, for he ’s a man 
To joust and dance and ruffle with our best. 

Yet there are mountains high and depths of sea 
To sap and bridge ere he is possible. 

She sees that well, yet would her days beguile ; 

Let her have that poor guerdon for her toil. 

Wal. ’T is the last chance. 

Cecil. Last chance is none. The gleaning of 
a field 

That never gave us promise of a sheaf. 

She was a woman fit to breed a race 


The Rival Queens 6i 

Of mighty sons to empire half this world ; 

But from her youth we ’ve racked her life away 
In daily moiling such as never slave 
Chained to a galley ’s done. Her native youth 
Is forth unto the ages, there to spring 
Anew to life that may its good self own. 

Wal. But she is fair and merry all her days. 
Cecil. There is the Tudor strength. Her 
father’s gift 

We have turned to our use, — the strength to toil 
And take no measure of the might that ’s spent. 
She is the summing of a thousand years 
Of England’s good and ill. In her there teems 
The life of prince and peasant, fields and thrones ; 
Of merchant’s counters and of battle lines. 

She is so great, so manifold, that e’en 

Her spirit dominant can never rule 

The hosts that clamour forth into her days. 

Now ’t is the hoyden milkmaid in a fling, 

And now the kingliness that shameth Spain ; 

Next weary rustic gibes, the phrase that goes 
Beyond our element to pierce the sky. 

Ay, ’t is a sight and meaning that this world 
Hath never seen and read, nor will again 
Have chance to set upon its sorry round. 

She fares as young, but is so as this age 


62 The Rival Queens 

That bears all ages’ fardels in its pack. 

Ah, Walsingham, bethink you of what came 
By birthright to her of hard greeds and lusts 
Enough to sink this land, and what we have 
In her true spirit faithful to high aims 
With gifts to shape a realm. 

Wal. Would that we saw the days for her 
to do 

Her full part by this land. 

Cecil. And why not that ? 

Wal. Ye know what waits us ever in the 
north. 

Cecil. Yet we are waiting with a better skill 
And truer might. I ’ll play thee ’gainst their craft 
And give them half the gains. 

Wal. ’T is under ground : 

They ’ve learned they have no chance in open field, 
And so they worm it under. There ’s a plan ; 

’T is not yet sure who leads it, nor its point ; 

But Paget is a knave; you know him well. 

Cecil. Nay, but I knew his sire and so know 
him : 

That quality goes on. 

Wal. He comes full oft to court, 

Looks well about him, hath no service here, — 
No friendly deed to do, then goes away 


The Rival Queens 63 

Awhile to hiding. When he ’s here we ’ve men 
Who stay beside him to prevent his plan. 

He studies well to ’scape them, yet ’t is clear 
He hath no present purpose. 

Cecil. Watch him well : 

His blood is dangerous. Ay, his sire schemed 
Upon her coronation for like deed. 

A true heart rebel slew him to keep shame 
From blackening his cause. 

Wal. Another ’s come, 

Who has been long hid in some foreign part. 

He was upon her inquest in the Tower. 

We know not what his purpose, yet he stays 
Aloof and weary watching as for chance. 

He is a grizzled fellow and bides still, 

Hath little commerce with the lot we fear. 

And of a sometime wealth has but his arms. 
Cecil. ’T is Petrie. 

Wal. Ay, ’t is he ; how knew you that ? 

Cecil. You paint him well. ’T is he slew 
Paget’s sire. 

He hates the queen, would oust her with fair 
stroke ; 

Yet he would give his life to fend the blow 
His mates would send. Spend ye no care on him : 
He ’ll be a very watch dog at their heels. 


64 The Rival Queens 

Wal. I cannot wake her to a sense of fear, 

For all I prove of these conspiracies : 

She laughs them all away, and vaunteth how 
She fells their purpose with a glance of eye. 

Cecil. Fear never stands beside her in a fight, 
For in her heart is Cceur de Lion’s blood. 

She faced the axe on that day in the Tower, 
Daunting the devil’s bishop when he strove 
To bow her head to death that seemed so sure. 

It was the lion’s image that stood there. 

Wal. And yet it bent her down beside her 
grave. 

Cecil. Nay, that was after : the cup the coward 
drinks 

Before the fight the hero too must drain 
When his deed is accomplished. Could she live 
Beyond this battle for her life she ’d fall 
For utter weariness of dangers faced 
In merry sense of safety. 

Enter Messenger. 

What brings ye here ? 

Messenger. They meet to-night at Paget’s 
country house 
Just before day. 

Wal. Who are they who there meet ? 

Mess. We know for sure but Paget. There’s 
a stir 


The Rival Queens 65 

In all their wonted haunts ; men from the fields 
Move singly towards the town ; since yesternight 
Four have come here for one who hies him back. 
Our count doth make it that ten thousand men 
Are here on mischief bent. 

Wal. Where bide these knaves ? 

Mess. A few are in the taverns, but the most 
Went to great houses. Norfolk has a throng. 
Wal. What learn you from the drunken ? they 
leak truth. 

Mess. No more save that their lords bade them 
be here 

To wait command. 

Wal. Double the guards at gates, 

Gather these men and pack them in the Fleet. 
Officer. It will not hold a thousand. 

Wal. Pack there five : 

We ’ll give them sorry comfort. Herd the rest 
In Lincoln Field close fenced with trusty spears 
And slay them if they break. 

Cecil [to Officer]. Where lies this Paget’s 
house ? 

Off. ’T is far in Kent, — full thirty miles 

away. 

Cecil [to Walsingham]. I’ll care to that; I 
know the quarter well. 


66 The Rival Queens 

The rest is in your hands. I ’ll take with me 

A score of troopers and be there ere morn. 

Wal. You may need more force. 

Cecil. Nay, they will not have 

Men at their back. That is no place for deeds ; 
What they would do is here. They meet afar 
To put us off the scent of what they plan. 

Your happy tale of vagrants gives good clue 
Of where they ’d strike. [To Attendant .] Bid the 
master of my horse 

Mount twenty faithful men and bring them here 
At once, well armed. [Exit Attendant . 

Wal. May Fortune ride with you. 

Cecil. In your hands stays our fortune and our 
fate. 

Perchance I ’ll bring back safety, till the next 
Doth try his chance with us. Meanwhile beware 
Lest this be done to turn our eyes away. 

Wal. Doubt not, for all of trust in London 
watch ; 

And every faithful man stays by his arms. 

Cecil. The danger is not there, but in this 
house 

With those who smiling serve. 

Wal. Of them the half 

Are safely caged and know, as do their folk, 


67 


The Rival Queens 
A stroke at her doth fire a train that sends 
Their prison to the air. 

Cecil. I will away 

And leave my betters to instruct the fox 
How he should ’ware the hounds. [Exit Cecil. 
Wal. There goes a master of swift deeds and 
sure. 

Could he but doubt the men he trusts, he ’d be 
The foremost of his time. But he will set 
Faith in each knave wherever he hath seen 
A spark of honour, knowing not that faith 
With most is but a flower to be nipped 
By the first frost that comes. 

End of Scene . 


SCENE VII 

Country House of Young Paget. 

Time : near Morning . 

Porter, Paget. 

[Loud knocking at door . 
Porter [trying for light]. What will he now? 
[Loud knocking.] Hello ! break in or stay. 
The devil take him and this tinder too ! 

[More knocking and shouting . 


68 The Rival Queens 

Hey ! pound your fists off while I find a match. 

Or burst your wind with shouting. So it goes. 

[Moves to door . 

Now for young Satan. [ Opens .] Welcome home, 
my lord. 

Enter Lord Paget, Lord Petrie, and Companions . 
Paget. You loon, you’ve slept. [ Striking him . 
Porter. Ay, master, I have slept : 

I watched three nights ; I could not watch the 
more. 

Paget. What are your eyes for but to watch 
for me ? 

Where are your fellows ? 

Porter. They are all abed. 

Paget. Are they aroused ? 

Porter. Nay, they are far from here. 

This doing will not stir them. 

Paget. Set meat and drink 

For half a score. Then hie thee swift to bed. 
Sleep for thy life till day. 

Porter. Ay, sir, I will. 

Paget. And count what ’s here a dream awhile 
ye slept, — 

One for no telling. 

Porter. Sir, I will. [ Exit Paget. 


The Rival Queens 69 

[Aside?^ Remember well and watch to pay thy 
stroke, — 

The last of them I ’ll take. 

[Sets food and drink , and goes away . 
Enter Paget and Companions . 

Paget. Sit ye to table: we have that to do 
An empty belly scorns. [Some sit and eat. 

ist Gentleman. You trust this place ? 

Paget. Ay, ’t is my house. There are none 
here but knaves 

Too dull to watch. I ever come and go, — 
Ofttimes with many. They are used to it. 

Besides they know I ’d slay them if they spied. 
ist Gent. Fear ever makes keen eyes. 

Paget. Ho, but they ’ll shut 

Along with mouths if you but know the way. 
They ’re fewer than of old ; what ’s left are 
safe, — 

A chosen remnant. Now we to the task 
We ’ll do to mend this realm. 

2D Gent. Let ’s say ourselves, 

And so save honesty : for I am here 
To keep my head and lands ; the realm may go 
Straightway to Satan if he ’ll make me safe. 

3D Gent. Our necks and acres are of small 
account ; 


70 The Rival Queens 

Our souls are all that stays. We ’re here to plan 
How we may do His will who doth them keep. 
4th Gent. We ’re here to plan a deed : let 
each man have 

What reason claims him, so he wills to do 
What all determine. See ye how it stays : 

The Scottish queen is ready for the deed, 

With friends beside her who will seize the gates 
And let our waiting hosts within that hold. 

As for the other — it is set this day 
Our Paget goes unto her with a gift 
She deigns receive. He is there for the stroke : 
When noonday sounds ; we shall be by to help. 
Abroad we ’ll meet our hosts from thorpe and 
field, — 

Some fifty thousand ere the sun hath set. 

The next day Alva comes with veteran arms 
To stay us well. 

ist Gent. What of her councillors ? 

4th Gent. The old fox Cecil gives his head 
and pads 

To deck our spears. Thus too with Walsingham 
And all her crew. So soon we ’ve joined 
With our good men who wait, we ’ll purge that 
den 

And make it fit our use. 


7 1 


The Rival Queens 
ist Gent. How for the law? 

4th Gent. ’Twixt laws there is betimes a bit 
of space 

For swifter doing that doth justice serve, — 

As it shall here. 

Petrie. Good friends, my wits are slow, 

For I am old. I boggle with this point. 

I was bid here for council in our need. 

For good contriving how to win the right 
In right’s good ways. But now my dull ears fail, 

Or I have slept and dreamed of what ye’d do 
Of dastard’s work. Is it the plan that he 

[. Pointing to Paget. 
Shall stand this noon ’fore England’s queen to send 
O’er seeming gift her death ? 

4 th Gent. Ay, so ’t will be : 

We all go there to stay him. 

Petrie. I ’ll be there 

And slit his gorge so soon he darks her gate, 

To save our cause from hell. 

Paget. What dotard ’s this ? 

How came he here to mar our remedy 
With quaking voice and will? Who speaks for 
him ? 

ist Gent, [aside to Paget]. He ’s of our best, 
but whiles he is thus strange ; 


72 The Rival Queens 

You know him not, for he has wandered long. 

He gave his all to help us in our stress. 

Petrie. My voice doth quake, Sir Host ; my 
blade is firm : 

'T will speak for me if ye will question it. 

Your sire found that, so too may now his son 
Barred in a like quest. 

Paget. Petrie ? # 

Petrie. Ay, 't is he 

Who stays athwart ye. 

Paget. Yea, his life is mine 

By double right. [To others .] Aside with ye ; I 'll 
end 

Two wrongs with one right stroke. 

[They fight . Paget is slain . 
Petrie. Would that this death came by another 
hand. 

And yet 't is well. My friends, ye will not do 
The deed ye planned. Go now and get ye hanged 
By your own hands, so ye may save your lands 
For heirs who haply may be honest men 
And not assassins. 

2D Gent. Set on, strike him down ! 

He is a spy on us. 

ist Gent. Nay, he 's a man; 

Ye shall not slay him. 


The Rival Queens 73 

All. Down, down with the knave ! 

3D Gent. They are upon us ! See, atop yon 
hill, 

Against the dawn, a troop come spurring here. — 
Fly for your lives ! This way into the wood ! 

[Exit all but Petrie ; enter Servants. 
Petrie [pointing to body]. Wert thou his stew- 
ard ? 

Steward. Ay, my lord, I was. 

Petrie. Say to his people that he chose to die 
To wipe an ancient stain from off his name, 

And that his lands are thus saved by his death 
That else had been attainted. Send his priest. 

[Exit Steward. 
Enter Cecil and Guards . 

Cecil [to Petrie, who leans on his sword]. ’Tis 
Petrie ! 

Petrie. Ay, Cecil. 

Cecil. How came this deed ? 

Petrie. Cecil, it came upon this skewer’s point. 
You see here the proof. [Shows blood and wound. 
Cecil. Great God ! ’T is Paget. 

Petrie. Ay, true, ’t was Paget, ere he caught 
my point ; 

But what ’t is now, who knows ? 

Cecil. Why did ye fight ? 


74 The Rival Queens 

Petrie. ’T was once again that question of 
the sun, 

When it should set. It puzzles my old wits 
Why men should fight o’er that, yet so they do. 
Cecil. You have not changed for all the years 
since then. 

Petrie. Ah, Cecil, would I had, for all else 
has : 

Then in a dozen, chance would send one knave ; 
The tale is now eleven. 

Cecil. Why stayed you here, 

When all the rest have fled ? 

Petrie. Cecil, we ’re foes ; 

And yet that question ’s hard, e’en to a foe 
One holds as man. Ay, think what else you will, 
But do not think me with the hunted pack 
That skulks in yonder wood. 

Cecil. Pardon, my lord. 

It was an idle question. Now to that 
Which it is fit to ask, — what did ye here ? 

Petrie. We contrived treason — ay, base 
treachery — 

Against your queen. 

Cecil. You with the others did ? 

Petrie. It was so shaped we were conspirators 
For secret doing of a villain deed. 


The Rival Queens 75 

The plan was told that she should meet with death 
This very noon. 

Cecil. We need be quick : ’t is far. 

[Cecil goes to door , calling his men. 
Petrie. Nay, Cecil, she is safe. In Rome they 
say 

That every action hath its head. In this 
The head lies there. [ Points to body. 

Cecil. He was to do the deed ? 

Petrie. He doth not answer nay, nor may I now 
Make answer for him ; yet if thus he planned 
To slay this noon, why lies he idly here ? 

These things go not together ; he will sleep 
Until well past that hour. 

Cecil. My true man, 

You slew him for his purpose. 

Petrie. Nay, Cecil: 

’T was he who sought my life for reasons old 
And others newly born. 

Cecil. Your ancient quest : 

You would accuse yourself of ill not done 
And fend you of the good. 

Petrie. Nay, I ’ll not shirk 

To take my burthen as those scuttling knaves. 

Hark to that view halloo within the wood. — 



76 The Rival Queens 

I set me in this plot, and thus their deeds 
Are rightly on my head ; so have it off. 

Cecil. Was ever man the like in all this world ? 
Self named conspirator, he twice hath smote 
Those who would slay our queen. What is to do ? 

Petrie. Send me unto the Tower and beyond : 
My true friends trod that way. As for the rest, 
Hang them upon these sconces if you will ; 

I ’m weary of them. [To Servants .] Take this 
thing away ; 

[Points to body . Servants take body away . 
It is more weariness unto my flesh. 

My cause is dead, hearsed in the hearts of 
knaves, — 

The deepest grave a faith can ever find, — 

So send me on. For that I ’ll beg your queen 
As subject loyal to her sharpened steel. 

Cecil. Wouldst thou speak with her ? 

Petrie. Nay, it would but weary her as it 
would me 

With questions out of joint. We ’ll spare her 
that. — 

Ah, Cecil, we were schoolmates : how came it 
That thou didst learn the ways of this new world, 
While I dreamed in the old to wake in days 
That are as ghosts to me? 


The Rival Queens 77 

Cecil. It is that you have stayed while we 
went on. 

’T is not yet overlate. 

Petrie. Nay, but it is : 

My knees are stiff for sword play and my wits 
Go round in ancient phrases till I tire 
Of their old tunes. I need to be renewed 
By earth’s medicament. What ’s left of faith 
Forbids the Roman way; I pray thee then 
Send me surcease as fits an Englishman 
Who tried to do his part and dully failed 
Because he was untimely. 

Cecil. Nay, my friend, 

You shall unto the Tower; for these knaves. 

Or those behind them, will upon you swift 
As pounce of hawk. 

Petrie. Then, prithee, let me stay 

A little while without. 

Cecil. There go you now 

To be safe kept for proving that the men 
Who fight us from the dark may still be true 
Unto their birthright, with their honour set 
Above the dastards’ clutch. [To Captain of Guard.] 
Bear you this lord 

Unto the Tower; bid the keeper there 
Hold him as friend though he be gaoled as foe. 


78 The Rival Queens 

Trusting his word in all as he would mine. 

[To Petrie.] You have your wish in part; the 
rest must wait 

Our sovereign’s will. We know what that will be 
When she knows all. 

Petrie. Nay, nay, good foe, not that : 

It were a weary thing to know that ought 
I did because my sire was gentleman 
Should bring me safety. Pray ye let that go 
Into the spaces where such things belong, 

And set me traitor as I am to her. 

Cecil. We will judge that. 

Petrie. Another grace, my lord : 

Those hounds that hide in yonder wood will yelp 
That I have sought a warding in those walls. 

I would have brief enlargement of thy will 
To try my dotard limbs and rusty sword ; 

They were mad for it when your people came. 

’T will be new weariness to sit and think 
Those stones are ’twixt me and their waiting points. 
Grant me that boon. 

Cecil. Go to ! thy limbs and sword 

Are fit to shame our youth. 

Petrie. Alas ! ’t is true. 

But for the reason that they have no more 
The wits or shape for deeds ; they only scheme 


79 


The Rival Queens 
To win by craft what true men stoutly win, 

And so they win to shame. 

Cecil. Wait for their call; 

And if they summon, then we ’ll see it done, 

So that the fight be fair. 

Petrie. Yet one grace more: 

Say to your queen that if she turns from me 
The edge of axe for lack of proof or else. 

She mind well what it is to rot in gaol. 

Let her remember me some time when lacks 
Traitor to meet a promise to the throng: 

I am for that, — so much I ’ll willing give 
Unto your sovereign, wishing she were mine. 
Farewell, Cecil, ’t is hard to find a foe 
Better than best of friends. [To Guards .] I ’ll 
follow you. 

Cecil. Petrie, farewell : I owe you more than 
most 

We call the faithful ; for you lift my eyes 
To take the stature of a gentleman. 

[Exit Petrie and Guards . 
A knave would claim him as a fellow knave ; 

But in his heart there is the sorrow note 
That tells the true man, — yea, the brother true. 
Whose soul hath found it in a fatal coil 
His wits cannot unsnarl. 

End of Scene . 


8o 


The Rival Queens 


SCENE VIII 

Audience Room in Whitehall. 
Elizabeth and Anjou. 

Elizabeth. How fares it with my lord in our 
dull land ? 

Hath he found ought to cure him of the ail 
All suffer when they leave his merry France ? 
Anjou. Ay, my dear queen, I have done as you 
willed, — 

Seen many things and far. The best I Ve seen 
Is token of yourself : your people are 
Shaped to your will. 

Eliz. j T is rather we to them ; 

For, as you see, they are right masterful 
And make their sovereigns to their very minds, — 
Or else unmake them swiftly. 

Anjou. Nay, I know 

Who is the ruler by this touchstone here 
Within my heart. 

Eliz. Oh, would that she might rule 

As your kind fancy paints : her land were else 
Than it is now, with menace in its air 
And ’neath its earth the thunder of near ills 
That would us overwhelm. 


The Rival Queens 8i 

Anjou. If danger comes 

Let me be near to thee that I may prove 
Haply with life what thine own is to me ; 

Then were my suit no mischance in the end. 

Eliz. I need, dear friend, no proof of thy true 
faith : 

My heart gives that. Would God might give the 
rest 

In a clear word that it were well for us. 

I wait that, now in fear and now in hope. 

As sways the mighty balance. 

Anjou. Why should we 

Seek more than happy days to crown our lives ? 
Let shadows fight themselves. Who cares what 
comes 

So we be blessed by our own happiness ? 

Eliz. Oh, Anjou, you have dwelt beside a 
throne, — 

Have seen what means it when its pillars shake 
And all the host who by it have their life 
Look for the coming doom. You know what ’tis 
When monarchs have to beg in foreign courts. 

For fortune hath forbid the happiness 
To fall amid their folk. Nay, my dear friend. 

To chain you now were shame. *T is fit you come 
Unto my kingdom as unto a rock, 


82 The Rival Queens 

Not as to fleeting sands. If so God will. 

We ’ll scape these dangers soon and safety find 
Upon that rock. Till then, ah me, till then, 

’T is fit we part : you happier to find 
Afield the chance of action that may bring 
Nearer our day ; while I must scheme and plot 
Against the perils men may meet with arms. 

Be what they may, I ’ll smite them with the hope 
That one by one they bring our meeting near. 
Anjou. Your majesty sends all her grace and 
skill 

With this dismissal of her lover’s suit. 

Eliz.. Nay, my good lord, we meant it not as 
such. 

Anjou. Nay, but, my queen, how can I take it 
else ? 

I laid my life to serve you ; yet aside 
You set my offer, bidding me go hence 
To serve you where my service is no more 
Than that of any knight who beareth arms 
Against the might of Spain. 

Eliz. Oh, Anjou, Anjou ! 

Thou wouldst be near to me, yet will not see 
The mighty travail that I have to bear, 

Or share it as I need to have it shared. 

Would ’t was a woman’s voice ; but this you hear 


83 


The Rival Queens 

Is the disnatured creature called a queen. 

Whose soul and body stay in every house 
As servants of the myriads she doth rule, 

Who hath no life save in their happiness. 

No hope but theirs, no privilege but death 
In some fell stroke she takes for sake of them. 

So must she live ; so must she hapless die 
With no near hand to clasp when comes the end. 
Anjou. Dear mistress, that ’s a cry my heart 
doth hear. 

There is one answer : willingly I go 
To do thy bidding and await the word 
That bids me back to thee. 

Eliz. Thank God our hearts 

Have spoken ere we part ; think of this woman. 

[Anjou kisses her hand and goes. 
True faith, true faith, hath ever king known faith, 
Or is that jewel for the vile alone ? 

We have well parted ; so well was it done 
That he doth half believe he felt the heat 
Spring from those mouldy faggots of his phrase 
He strove to blow to flame ; and in my heart 
I fancied that the foxfire sent a glow 
To wake good summer. Yet he is a man 
To move a woman and to slay her heart. 

End of Scene. 


8 4 


The Rival Queens 


SCENE IX 

Audience Room at Whitehall. 

Queen and Ladies in Waiting. 

Lady. My queen, my queen, ’t is told Kate 
Ashley ’s dead. 

Elizabeth. Nay, this is idle rumour, for we 
were 

A sennight since together, and we planned 
To live once more our Hatfield’s merry days. 

No, no, it cannot be. She is too dear, — 

I cannot spare her, for she is the best 
And last of youth. No, no, it cannot be. 

Lady. She went to Hatfield and her people 
marked 

She cared for treasured things as those who go 
Knowing they come not back. 

Eliz. Why knew I not 

This shadow of the ill ? 

Lady. We knew it not 

Until the story came. 

Eliz. It cannot be ; 

For when she dies I ’m old, I ’m old. 

She was the golden clasp that held my days 
From sorry creeping on unto the end 


The Rival Queens 85 

In the great darkness. Spare her, oh my God, 
Until I die ! 

Enter old Servant . 

Lady. There comes your John from Hatfield. 
Alas ! *t is true, *t is true. 

Eliz. John, John, she lives? 

John. My lady, — 

Eliz. She ’s dead. 

John. Ay, my lady, dead. 

Eliz. Why sent ye not for me before it came ? 
John. You see, my lady, it so sudden came : 

A day she worried round to see if we 
Had gardened well ; the next day she did ail 
And cried awhile she fumbled with the clothes 
You wore when child; next morn she was away 
In all her wits, sat in her bed and rocked 
Her folded arms as though she held a babe 
To her old shrivelled breast. She crooned and 
crooned 

Strange stories to it, — how it was a king 
That died before ’t was born, and then she moved 
more slow 

Until her arms fell down and she was dead. 

Ay, it was sudden, for we ’d never thought 
That she would die. She was with us so long 
That none remembered when she was not there. 


86 The Rival Queens 

Eliz. Asked she for me ? 

John. Nay, nay, she did not that. 

But as she put away the things you liked 
We all knew by her face she was with ye ; 

We knew that look. 

Eliz. Ah me, how well I know 

That mother’s look, yet saw it not till now 
As better than the light in God’s own sky. 

She ’s gone, she ’s gone ! And with her soul ’s 
away 

All that I ever knew of mother’s love. 

Why knew I not before ? Let her be laid 
Where I would rest forever. Go back, John : 

You take what heart is left unto the folk. 

John. You come, my lady, too ? 

Eliz. Nay, I cannot : 

This place doth prison me ; and she is dead 
Who made the other dear. Say I will come 
What time I may to sorrow with ye all. 

[Exit John. 

[Alone .] Now she is with the past, the half forgot, 
To be remembered well when memory 
Is loosed from these clods. Till then, dear Kate, 
Go to thy rest. 


End of Act Second. 


ACT THIRD 

SCENE I 

Audience Room at Whitehall. 
Elizabeth and Cecil. 

Elizabeth. 

ECIL, what now ? Your ever patient 
face, 

That takes the sun or shade without a 
change, 

Hath woe writ on it. Is the Spaniard here ? 

Or she of Scotland hard upon our gates 

With all her breechless hosts ? Let her come on ; 

We ’re ready for it. All days’ best is gone, 

So we are in the humour for the worst. 

Cecil. Nay, my dear liege. We have but that 
we ’ve known 

These years beside our doors, — the treachery 
That we ’ve made safe by softness of our hearts. 
Eliz. How are we traitors ? 

Cecil. The plan is, or was. 

To smite you in this hour, and so clear 
Her way unto your throne. 



88 


The Rival Queens 


Eliz. 


A merry plan, 


Yet here we stand unsmote. 
Cecil. 


God sent a man. 


An honest foe amid the devil’s crew. 

He slew the fellow who should do the deed. 
But for that chance — 


Nay, Cecil, ’t is not chance, 


Eliz. 


But certain reckoning with that good faith 
That dwells . in heart of treason. Where are men 
There slumber true souls who will sure awake 
When villain voices rouse them. Who ’s the knave 
That planned this stroke ? 

Cecil. ’T was Paget. 

Eliz. Yea, we saw 

He was a scoundrel, yet he never came 
Near us for ought. 

Cecil. And yet we know he planned — 

Eliz. Yea, well I knew it too. Who stayed 
his hand ? 

Cecil. Lord Petrie slew him when he found 
his aim, — 

Slew him to save their cause from foulest blot. 

The hour you were crowned he slew the sire 
For like clear reason. 

Eliz. Ay, a true heart he. 

I well remember when I faced those men 


The Rival Queens 89 

In fight for life, how Petrie’s changeless face 
Lit by his steady eyes did lend me hope ; 

And yet he gave no sign. Where is he now ? 
Cecil. He in the Tower waits your will ; his 
own 

Is thence to go the way his friends have gone. 
This is his prayer to you. 

Eliz. Nay, that ’s too far : 

Such treason is half faith ; we ’ll make it whole. 

’T will be a goodly finish. Let her plot 
Thus vainly as she will ; I ’d do the like, 

Were I so checked and caged. 

Cecil. You hate her not ? 

Eliz. Hate ? Nay, true sovereigns have no 
right to hate. 

And if they do are apt to meet fit doom ; 

But I would give a year of this good life 
For one fair hour of venging as I would 
My wrongs upon that demon. Truce to that ; 

Our part is patient waiting for their moves 
And coldly reckoning counters. 

Cecil. Nay, my queen, 

The whole ye know not yet; they planned to 
bring 

Alva to aid them with his veteran hosts ; 

They ’re now aship for it. 


90 The Rival Queens 

Eliz. So they would strike 

With foreign swords, would bring upon this land 
The might to tread us ’neath the feet of Spain ? 

Its native burthens this stout realm may bear 
As man his body’s ills. They who bring more 
From past the seas shall go into the deep. 

Is Norfolk taken ? 

Cecil. Ay, we have him fast : 

We ’ll end with him. 

Eliz. Whom else have ye in hand ? 

Cecil. None who have led save one who leads 
in all. 

Eliz. Knew she of this ? 

Cecil. ’T was she who planned the stroke 
Paget should give. 

Eliz. Nay, that has little weight : 

She fights with me ; it is a fair, hard fight. 

I ’ve come to reckon on it. 

Cecil. Yet, my liege, 

She is the source of all these strokes that come 
As thunderbolts from out the clearest sky ; 

So that you have no safety, and this realm 
Is but a battle field. 

Eliz. But the combatants 

Are our own folk. ’T is curse that we must bear 
Because ’t is native with us. 


The Rival Queens 91 

Cecil. She plans not 

Alone to turning all your folk away ; 

She asks for Philip’s help. 

Eliz. Show me the proof. 

Cecil. Here, with her hand and seal, is offering 
Of overlordship to the king of Spain 
If he doth bear you down. 

Eliz. \taking paper \ . Yea, ’t is clear writ; 

Our Jezebel can shape it with the best 
So it be only words she has to spend. [Reads. 

Ha, Alva with a host, — Spain suzerain, — 

She and her heirs to hold this isle in fief 
Under that throne. This lies against our realm ; 

It is no longer fight ’twixt rival queens 
Where we may judge the action personal. 

’Gainst war upon the land I ’ve sworn to guard. 
Ay, she shall come to judgment for this deed : 

So long that danger fronted but our life 
We had the right to chance it ; not so now 
This treason is at large. 

Cecil. ’T will have its end 

When righteousness is done. 

Eliz. See to it too 

That she be judged by men who dare be just 
To her as to this kingdom. See there be 
No Satan’s Gardiner there. 


92 The Rival Queens 

Cecil, My liege, he ’s dead : 

You’ve buried his foul kind beneath the years 
That you have ruled us. Justice will be done 
So mercy bar not its appointed way. 

Eliz. That ’s ours, Cecil, you reckon not with 
that, 

Nor even we until it is full time : 

The first is justice. 

Cecil. Nay, it is the last. 

Our very chance of life. 

Eliz. Still goes the cry 

Of all your pack for death of prince or churl. 

Have we not slain to save until this land 
Reeks of its gibbets ? Slain till I ’m alone, 

My kindred gone, the nobles of this realm 
Shrunk to a sorry remnant ? Where ’s the goal 
To which the axe doth point with bloody 
edge ? 

Is this His kingdom’s peace ye bade me to 
When we set on our way ? 

Cecil. Nay, we seek that. 

Eliz. When come we to it ? 

Cecil. God must tell us when. 

We know the way of justice is His way 
And that His magistrate must hold His sword 
To smite all those who bar it. We must on 


93 


The Rival Queens 
And cavil not at duty, for the end 
Is not for us to question or to claim. 

Eliz. And if we will to turn ? 

Cecil. Yea, then we go 

Straight to the merciless sea, to have it close 
Above our worthless heads. 

Eliz. That is plain said. 

Cecil. No plainer than the truth. Though it 
be sore, 

’T is what ye swore me on my faith to give, — 
Counsel to meet your need. See, good my liege. 
See where ye stay ; see that the sacrifice 
That lies behind us went to win us here. 

Would ye absolve those traitors ye have smote 
And turn their miscreant lives to good account, 
Then set their heads as milestones on the path 
You break through this vast wilderness of days, 

So that your folk go onward loving well 
The hand that hewed for them. Mayhap to love 
Those who are brushed aside because they stood 
’Gainst that advancement, for the during light 
That shineth from an empire gilds all names 
That shared its making. 

Eliz. Thus I am borne on. 

Cecil. Ay, my dear liege, so are all onward 
borne 


94 The Rival Queens 

In the great tide of time, — all but the fools 
Who think to stay it by their helpless deeds. 

Eliz. Nay, we will bide awhile : good waiting 
wins 

Surer than strokes. We ’ll judge her in due time, 
When time hath helped to judgment. 

End of Scene. 

SCENE, II 

Whitehall Palace. 

Elizabeth and Courtiers. 

Enter Clod. 

Elizabeth. Ho, Clod, well come ! Let ’s have 
thy wisdom here 

To set against the folly of wise men. 

Clod’s ears are near the earth and hear the speech 
Of our dear groundling masters. 

Clod. Nay, good dame. 

Clod is thy jester ; he hath pay for that ; 

Wisdom comes dearer than this cap and bells. 

[ Pointing to Cecil. 

Bid him to change with me and thou wilt have 
Both braver fool and better councillor. 

Eliz. Ho, Clod, let be thy betters ; ’t is thy part 
To whip our wits so they may pull away 
From ancient ruts. 


The Rival Queens 95 

Clod. Yea, give then Clod a lash 

And leave to swing it so that these dull hacks 
Caper like nimble donkeys to new fields 
To fill their windy bellies; while they’re gone 
His dame and Clod will set this world aright. 
We’ll let them bray their wisdom when ’t is done. 
Eliz. What would Clod do ? 

Clod. Thy fool once trapped a fox. 

Luck goes not with their killing, so he kept 
The hussy in a cage, shared food with her and 
watched 

’Gainst all her wary doings ; spent good nights 
In circumvention of her plans to ’scape ; 

Had fingers often nipped. Meanwhile his fowl 
Were prey to scores of Reynards that had chance 
Because thy fool was busy with the one. 

At length he lapsed to wisdom for a trice. 

Opened the door, and set that devil free. 

’T was one more devil in this big round world. 

But that one shunned his coop. 

Eliz. One more is much 

When there might be one less. 

Clod. Nay, my good dame ; 

We better leave our devils in the wild 
Than scotch them in our hearts. 

End of Scene . 


9 6 


The Rival Queens 


SCENE III 

Audience Room at Whitehall. 
Elizabeth, Courtiers, and Ladies. 

Enter Chamberlain. 

Chamberlain. My liege, there ’s word a ship 
from Antwerp comes. 

Elizabeth. What brings it from our army ? 
Cham. ’T was yet far ; 

We know but that its banners were all furled. 
That tells ill news. A messenger should hie 
Hard on the steps of him who brought us this. 
Eliz. [meditating ] . Last night I dreamed I stood 
beside the sea 

And there beheld a lonely man who swam, 

Weary and spent, yet bravely, towards the shore. 
So near he came I saw within his eyes 
The light of valour, and upon his lips 
A smile of gentleness, — he was at peace 
For all he battled with the dooming sea. 

Then as I strove to cry he looked on me. 

And it was Christ who drowned. Yea, it was He ; 
And I awoke to wonder. 

Lady. But He *s God ! 

Eliz. And yet we know He died. What 
matters it 


97 


The Rival Queens 
Whether upon the cross or in the sea. 

So that He died when timely for our need ? 

\Looks away from window . 
Lady [to another ]. Our liege is troubled, for it 
means that he 

Hath come by sore mischance. 

2D Lady. Nay, not for him : 

He matches not her dream. It is the other. 

Eliz. [to Chamberlain]. He comes; go bid 
him straightway here. 

Enter Officer, who slowly approaches . 
Officer. My liege, — 

Eliz. You bring us sorrow? 

Off. Ay, my liege. 

Sir Philip ’s dead. 

Eliz. How died he, — on the sea ? 

Off. Nay, in the battle at the close of fight 
By a chance shot coming we know not whence. 
Eliz. There was no winning? 

Off. Nay, ’t was we who lost. 

For all we held the field, when he was dead. 

Eliz. Well said; we should have won an em- 
pire there, 

And then bowed down in ashes. Is there else ? 
Off. No other fell save few of common folk. 
Eliz. Yet there is surely else, for this doth 
wrong 


98 The Rival Queens 

Our sense of what befits him. Hath he left 
Some message for us ? 

Off. Nay, my queen, he went 

As fits a soldier, — quickly out from life 
When ’t serves no longer. Mayhap he had sent 
Some word ; but as he gasped I brought him drink 
The wounded thirst so for ; yet as he touched 
The cup I held, he saw a common man 
As nigh to death, who eyed it longingly. 

1 Give it to him/ he said, ‘ behold his need 
Is greater far than mine/ So went the breath 
He might have shaped to last word for his queen 
In speech to tell the ages what he was. 

Eliz. [aside] . Yea, this was never message for 
our ears. 

But for his kind to write upon their hearts. 

’T was written on His face I saw who drowned — 
A life that was the life spring of this realm, 

A death that leaves its goodly stream to go 
Forever on to bless the haunts of men 
And past them to the sea of noble deeds. 

[T<? Officer.] Bid that they send him here ; we 
cannot spare 

The dust he shaped unto his nobleness. 

No more of him. He hath eternity ; 

And we our weariness and memory. 


The Rival Queens gg 

What else from Holland, — are we mated there 
By this hard check ? 

Off. Nay, for our Lord Leicester 

Hath won great favour : they would have him 
rule 

Over their realm. 

Eliz. So Robert goeth up. 

He has the art to win where words will serve ; 

But when it comes to deeds, he spends for nought 
And counts our jewels baubles in his game. 

He is not there to play the king for us; 

We’ll have him back. 

Cecil. Think well of that, my liege : 

To rend him from his honours in their flush 
Is a sore stroke. 

Eliz. We were a fool to send 

His like on such an errand. He knows well 
We would not have that realm, and yet he dares 
To clutch it for himself. We ’ll have him back 
Where he may play the monarch at less price 
Than that he pays. 

Cecil. Alas, my queen, war’s game 

Is never played with sacrifice of pawns : 

We risk our best in it. 

Eliz. I know that well, 

And like my game the better, where we play 


ioo The Rival Queens 

Words against words and bid the nimble days 
Count our good winnings. 

Cecil. Give him but the chance 

To prove the soldier that is in his soul. 

For that you sent him there. 

Eliz. Let ’s reckon that : 

He ’s spent our best to show him to the foe ; 

What will it cost to prove him Caesar’s mate ? 

God knows if there be men within the realm 
To hail him victor with his greatness won. 

Nay, nay, we ’ll have him back; and if Spain comes 
We ’ll fight as best we may, each for himself 
In the Almighty’s lead. Ah, counselor, 

Where is the trumpet that shall call the dead 
Unto our need, however well they die? 

Where is the hand to bring the ducats back 
We waste upon such idle chance of war ? 

Cecil. There ’s else than men and gold. 

Eliz. Ay, there is else 

Than flesh and bone in man, but when these rot 
That else is for the service of the Lord, 

And not to stay this realm. So let it end 
Until we have to meet unbidden hosts. 

No more of war, my lords, no more of war 
Until that devil knocks here at our door. 

End of Scene . 


The Rival Queens 


ioi 


SCENE IV 

Audience Room at Whitehall. 
Elizabeth and Ladies. 

First Lady. My liege is weary of the things 
we do ? 

Elizabeth. Nay, I am weary of the things 
we’ve done, 

And what there is to do. My lass will learn 
There will come days when all the air is full 
Of clamouring from those who should be still, 

For they are dead, or never have been born, 

To vex the living. 

ist Lady. Ah, my queen, you ’re drear 

From your sore toiling. 

Eliz. Nay, my silly lass. 

Thy queen is but a turnspit who doth go 
Around and round to serve the coming feast. 

The scent of it must pay her for her pains 
While others have the meat. What wouldst thou 
else ? 

They pay some turnspits with a golden crown 
And set them thrones. 

ist Lady. Oh, ’t is a fancy strange 

To liken thus your ruling of this realm. 


102 The Rival Queens 

Eliz. ’T is stranger fate that makes the likeness 
true. 

Enter Cecil, who goes slowly to Queen. 
Second Lady. ’T is said that Anjou comes. 
Ah, then will be 

Again the day : our men bring us but fog, 

But he brought ever sun. 

Eliz. Thou merry jade. 

Where hast thou heard this tale ? 

2 D Lady. It goes about 

That he hath won great honours in the field, 

And so won what he prizes more than all. 

Eliz. What say the folk of that ? 

2D Lady. They liked him half 

When he was here afore ; but now each ass 
Doth wag his ears and say, ‘ we knew him brave 
And fit to wed our queen.’ 

Eliz. Know they he fought 

To stay our faith? 

2D Lady. Ay, that they know right well. 

And so they count him friend. 

Eliz. Heard ye this, Cecil ? 

Cecil. Ay, my dear queen, I heard. 

Eliz. ’T is a fair tale. 

Cecil. Alas, my queen, another comes with it 
To blacken all our hearts. 


The Rival Queens 103 

Eliz. What comes, and whence ? 

We’ll meet it, Cecil, not with thy sad face. 

But with brave welcome. 

Cecil. None yet come to us. 

But o’er the sea a message such as men 
Have never writ before, even with death 
To be their scribe. 

Eliz. Nay, give the message straight. 

Cecil. Would it could stay unsaid ; but ye must 
know 

That yesterday, on Saint Bartholomew’s feast. 

The fiends of Paris set upon our friends 
And slew all in its walls ; thence on the rage 
Swept through the realm ; an hundred thousand 
slain 

Mark where the flame of hell hath raged its way ; 
Coligny ’s dead, and with him all the host 
Of noble men and women who have stood 
With us ’gainst Rome. 

Eliz. Get thee to Bedlam, man, 

With thy mad tale, and spare our ears this shame. 

Cecil. Yea, I would there and gibber till I die 
To prove it false. 

Eliz. But France hath sure a king, 

A faithful sovereign with the strength to stay 
The order of his realm, — doth he still live ? 


104 The Rival Queens 

Cecil. Ay, he lives on, and in the massacre 
Shot many from his windows as they fled. 

Eliz. Alas ! my Cecil ’s mad. Send for my 
leech. 

[To Attendants .] Care for him gently. Strange 
that he should rave 

Thus of a king who butchered his own folk. 

He’s toiled o’er much for us. 

Cecil. Nay, dear my liege, 

I am not mad, but sorely like to be. 

Unto our shores come thousands who have won 
A hardy safety through the storm-swept sea : 

Full many wounded ; babes and women torn 
As by the claws of tigers. There they lie, — 
Mute, piteous wreckage of the deed that’s done. 
We cannot doubt, for here your embassy 
Tells of the horror as it stalked forth ; 

The rest those fleeing tell. 

[ Gives her despatches . She reads . 
Eliz. Good God ! ’t is true. Great Satan, it is 
true. 

Our cousin France — Oh, never more a king 
Can wear a crown unshamed. The children slain 
And women while they bore them. Yea, I knew 
This world a villain ; yet I never dreamed 
How black of heart. [To Servant .] Open the 
windows there 


The Rival Queens 105 

That we may know our day is in the sky 
And breath still in our air. [Sinks down . 

My Cecil, let ’s to Bedlam, for they know — 
Those happy fools — nought of these things that 
turn 

Our ordered senses in such nightmare whirl. 

For they inhabit stars. Our Christ is dead 
Or that which seemed Him was a sorry sham 
Who paltered with us, cheating on and on 
Adown the ages for the devil’s work. 

Nay, nay, not that. Send, Cecil, to the shore ; 
Help as we may those wrecks. Our embassy 
Shall straightway back. Where was the land of 
France 

Henceforth we know a pit we look not in, 

For it is delved to immortal shame. 

Cecil. Nay, nay, my queen, ’t is but a part that 
shares 

In this iniquity. 

Eliz. Know ye a state 

Lives as a man : its parts all bear the ills 
Each member sets upon the knitted whole ; 

They living share its shames. But it is done; 
What ’s left for us to do ? 

Cecil. First, we should see 

In this foul deed what fronts us : he of Rome 


106 The Rival Queens 

Shows here what we may reckon if he wins 
Over our walls. This bids that they be strong. 

Eliz. Oh, this will turn all English hearts to flint, 
And make of them a wall as from the rock 
Of the eternal hills. ’T is Satan’s stroke. 

Yet it doth set us free : henceforth alone 
We go our single way to live or die. 

Put this aside for further of our needs. 

Cecil. Before this came the word that Anjou 
sought 

Once more to pay his court with hope renewed 
By deeds that fit a man and stay your realm ; 

The story of them hath engaged our folk, — 

What shall we say to him ? 

Eliz. We say to him 

That we are dead and that ’t is fit he seek 
Some bit of earth that ’s clean to be his grave. 

He may look far for that. 

Cecil. *T is message hard 

Ye bid me bear. 

Eliz. *T is soft to what I feel. 

Cecil. He is your lover; he hath proved his 
faith. 

Your counsellor must bid ye think right well. 

Eliz. Man, think! Have I not thought till 
I am gray 


The Rival Queens 107 

To see my way through this? Yea, if my head 
Had trusted heart for counsel, he were now 
Here by my side, yoked to this shame and me. 
Nay, nay, Tm dead; and he had better be 
Where bugles ring and answering volleys roar 
Above a soldier’s grave. So brave men slip 
Between the stars unto forgetfulness. 

While women lift their load and stumble on 
Until the life bows down. [ She weeps. 

Cecil. Oh my dear liege. 

Your servants know how ye have given all 
The gold of woman’s heart to grace this realm. 
Yea, but for that we were in yon foul pit 
And not in this fair land. 

End of Scene . 


SCENE V 

Council Room at Whitehall. 

Cecil, Walsingham, Davison, and Others . 
Walsingham. You know, my lords, we thrice 
have changed the hold 

Where we would cage our fate. Now from the last 
There comes the ancient tale of how the folk 
For leagues around drink madness in the air. 


108 The Rival Queens 

Each day we find a dagger in some hand 
That, if it chanced to strike, would make her 
queen 

And made us shorter by our worthy heads. 

Davison. Why, in this world of endless hap- 
penings, 

From all the host may not some helpful chance 
Send her the quell ? Thrones need to be thus 
stayed, 

And those who hold them look not over close 
At how they ’re propped. 

Cecil. You know what that would bring ? 
Dav. We know it would be welcome. 

Cecil. We know too 

How past that welcome is a reckoning 
That we should have to face ; know well the soul, 
Even of kings, must justify itself 
Unto its better part. The sins ’t would do, 

So they hark back into their dens, are nought 
But idle fancies ; if ye give them shape 
They are upon your head. More certainly 
Because thy master dreamed them will he smite 
The deeds that he had not the heart to do. 

We better risk that she be over us 
Than we beneath the torment that would bring. 
Dav. Yea, councillor, ’t is safe enough for you. 


The Rival Queens 109 

For you are so inwoven with this state 
’T would fall apart if you were cast away ; 

We can be brushed aside. 

Cecil. I count not that ; 

For if she comes, I go, — it matters not 
By what door forth. If ye would have it done. 
Where are the knaves who dare ? For those true 
men 

Who are her warders stand before that gate ; 

I know their answer. 

Dav. But I know their hearts 

Are brave for their hard need. They will not 
halt 

In speculation ’fore it. 

Cecil. Try and learn 

How good the cowardice of honest men, 

That fendeth them from shame whence e’er it 
stalks. 

Dav. Will you then sign with us ? 

Cecil. Yea, I will sign 

To prove what ’s sure ; so that this council see 
There is for us but one straightforward way, — 
The true man’s way. 

Dav. Our message is here writ 

Ready for seal : 

[Reads. 


no The Rival Queens 

‘ To Amyas Paulet, Knight, Greeting : 

‘ What hath come to pass in these days makes clear that 
to save our queen your prisoner must die . W e bid 
you contrive this swiftly and so prove you faithful 
to this realm' 

Cecil. It is plain said ; the answer will be 
clear. 

[To Walsingham.] Grave it upon thy tablets that 
I sign, 

Knowing ’tis writ in air, — that were it sent 
In whirlwind by the Lord, it would not shake 
His firm set soul. 

Dav. Cecil, you ’re fanciful : 

You see not how we stay by moments wrong 
The everlasting right, slay worthless life 
To save the worthiest for God’s own work. 

Cecil. Yea, I am fanciful, if so it be 
To love the stately order of our law 
Which bids men do no murder. That doth hedge 
The meanest with a wall whose every stone 
Was delved and shaped and built by men who 
toiled 

In service of their God. His justice calls 
For judgment on your purpose as on hers. 

Stained both alike with treason ’gainst His law. 


Ill 


The Rival Queens 
But that I know that man, we should here go 
Upon our parted ways. 

Enter Messenger. 

Messenger. The queen doth bid 

Her council to her service. 

End of Scene. 

SCENE VI 

Council Chamber. 

Elizabeth, Council. Afterwards , Norfolk. 
Elizabeth [to Cecil]. Stay by me, Cecil ; we 
would make an end 
Of what we left in air of yesterday, 

And so win breath for what the morrow brings. 

It weighs upon me. We must find the path 
To some sure quittance. 

Cecil. Ay, my liege, we need 

To lay our burthens where they ’ll weigh no more 
On ye or on this realm. Neither may bear 
The sore tax more. 

Eliz. Your way to put them off? 

Cecil. Give them to justice; so they no more 
harm 

By their contriving. While they live, we wait 
Each hour’s chance. 


1 12 The Rival Queens 

Eliz. Norfolk we know a fool, — 

A gracious, stately, witless tool of knaves. 

Part him from them ; so then he may live on, 

A pretty fiction of what should be man, 

As others of his kind, to grace our court 
And earn an epitaph in place of fame. 

What would you of a fool ? 

Cecil. My queen, the fool 

Is not to reckon with ; the knave we bind 
With pledge and hostage, for he sees the end. 

The lack-wit knoweth but his moment’s greed, 

He hath his sudden hungers as the beasts 
And slakes them quick and senselessly as they. 

We cannot fence his sins as those of men. 

So slay them with the stroke. 

Eliz. We ’ve sent for him. 

See as he stands before us how thy fear 
Is fancied danger. Were this kingdom sunk 
Because such dullards dwelt here, we were lost ; 
For half our folk are worse. Yea, we are here 
To shape it so that fools may fit right well 
In the safe spaces that fair wisdom leaves 
For them to range in. But, see, here he comes. 

Enter Norfolk with Guards, 

How well the role of life doth set on him. 

[To Norfolk.] Your biding in our hostel suits 
you well, 


The Rival Queens 113 

My lord of Norfolk. Ay, you have the port 
Of prosperous gentleman. 

Norfolk. Oh gracious queen. 

Your bidding gives me back what I left here 
When hastily I went hence. 

Eliz. That is well said ; 

If all your thought were thus so fair attuned. 

You would not stand as now between those guards 
Who bring the gateway of your prison here 
To shame our presence. < 

Norfolk. My liege, they come 

Not at my willing; your poor servant needs 
No guards to hold him here, for he is reft 
Of all temptations save his love for you. 

Let him stand free to show it. 

Eliz. Yea, my lord, 

I fain would trust you, for you are the last 
Of our great nobles who of right once stood 
Near to our throne and heart; the rest have trod 
The traitor’s way to shame their rank and land. 
What madness spurs them ? 

Norfolk. Good my liege, you know 

For all our grace we be but graceless knaves. 

Save for your help we go as moth to flame: 

Be it but farthing candle, there we in 
And scorch to death, — to wonder as we die 


1 14 The Rival Queens 

How came that woe to us ; mayhap to guess. 

In our last guessing, that our eyes were blind 
Because our dear sun shone not and we saw 
No other light to seek. 

Eliz. \to Cecil]. We named him fool, 

Yet here is cleverness. 

Cecil. ’T is courtier’s phrase ; 

The action tells the man. 

Eliz. So it shall tell 

If in his heart he ’s true. \To Norfolk.] Hath 
then my moth, 

Of scorched wings but all unharmed tongue. 
Found wit to judge ’twixt rushlight and the day 
From his sore schooling ? 

Norfolk. Mistress, it is dark 

Where I have tarried, waiting for the sun 
To send command to me ; give but the chance 
That thy poor servant dwell within this light, 

And he will know no other in the world. 

Or seek for else afar. 

Eliz. Oh Norfolk, Norfolk, 

We play well with our words. We play so well 
That our own hearts are captured by our tricks 
To pay hard folly’s forfeit. Come we now 
To speak as men with sense of need and way. 

Tell me straight forth, that heart doth join with 
head 


The Rival Queens 115 

In faith you pledge as man and nobleman 
Of this dear realm, you put aside the plan 
To wed that jade. 

Norfolk. My queen, that candle’s out 

In head and heart alike. I give that pledge. 

And for good surety ask my liege to hold 
My life and lands as forfeit. 

Eliz. Set to that 

Thy sovereign’s trust, the name of Englishman, 
The faith of valiant sires, — all this ye give 
To make the bond full sure? [Norfolk bows his 
head.] So then, my lord, 

We hold you bound, though now we set you free, 
And joy therein, for we ourselves are loosed 
From chains that weighed our heart. 

[Norfolk kneels and kisses the Queen’s hand. 

Walsingham [to Cecil]. One more to watch 
and counterplot. He ’ll go 
Straight to his waiting purpose. 

Cecil. Nay, not straight, 

But round about and slow : awhile he ’ll sail, 
Borne by this favouring air that keeps him true. 
And then he ’ll flag, to wait the steady wind 
That bears him to his wrecking. Ay, he ’ll wreck ; 
His stars all fight against him, and his soul 
Hath not the strength to set against their sway. 

End of Act Third. 


ACT FOURTH 

SCENE I 

Audience Room at Whitehall. 
Elizabeth and Cecil. 

Elizabeth. 

HAT of our Norfolk’s doings ? He ’s 
away 

This month agone, — away e’en when 
he ’s here. 

For in his empty head that devil spins 
A spider’s web to tangle all his wits. 

There ’s little in him, yet there is enough 
To shape new treason to his pledged word. 

Cecil. He’s double traitor. Yet, my liege, 
he ’s fair 

As young Apollo. 

Eliz. Ay, he ’s fair without, 

But foul as ever carcass all within. 

He is our cousin and we know him well, 

Both in and out : these years we were a fool 
To trust his cursed folly. 

Cecil. 



It is well 


The Rival Queens 117 

To know that man thus fair to eye and speech 
May be but rottenness where dwells his soul, — 

If such there be to bless him. 

Eliz. Truce to that. 

Cecil \aside \ . Good truce that cometh after 
stroke well sent. 

Eliz. What does this vagrant with his empty 
days ? 

Cecil. He plans again to wed with Scotland’s 
queen. 

Such are no common nuptials, and it needs 
That much be well contrived. 

Eliz. ’Od’s death ! ye take 

His treachery as sport. 

Cecil. And so it is ; 

For he your pretty kinsman ’s mad to turn 
This world a topsy turvey with a ring 
Set on the withered hand of Jezebel, 

And thinks no worse of it than yokel Hodge 
Of wedding with the milkmaid. 

Eliz. Have him here, — 

Nay, straight back to the Tower. 

Cecil. Gently, liege ; 

This vexes sore, yet still we need be slow 
In smiting for it. He ’s now in the north 
Near to her prison ; if we bid him here 


n8 The Rival Queens 

With rude persuasion it may lead to else 
Then we ’re yet ready for. If he submits, 

Our law knows no offense in what he plans, 

For it is idle dreaming. 

Eliz. Yet she shares 

In this contriving. 

Cecil. Not yet, but ’t will come. 

The dame ’s not shy, but difficult to speak ; 

Give her but chance and she will make the rest 
Of plot the artfullest we yet have had 
Spun from her wondrous wit. She ’ll set him forth 
So we may know him ere the trial comes, 

For what he dares and dares not. 

Eliz. Ay, ’t is well. 

We ’ll know him quick and truly; bid him go 
At once unto her prison for report; 

Counsel our faithful keeper that he care 
Against his escort lest there danger come 
From treacherous schemers, — that he send account 
Of all that may appear. Cecil, ’t is well 
To draw a serpent’s teeth. 

Cecil. Ay, liege, or know 

If they be venomous, before they strike. 

We’ll soon find what’s to come. 

End of Scene. 


The Rival Queens 


1 19 


SCENE II 

Camp near Carlisle Castle. 
Norfolk, Arthur, and Guards . 
Norfolk. Another march will bring us to that 
hold. 

And thou who shar’st this doing for thy share 
Shouldst have the whole of it set plain. Thou kno w’st 
That in yon keep is prisoned Scotland’s queen ; 

’T is nigh a score of years agone she came, 
Claiming a sovereign’s right, a sister’s right, 

To shelter by our throne. 

Arthur. My lord, all know, 

All bear this shame they burn to sweep away. 
Count me for that. 

Norfolk. Ay, lad, men bear with shames 

As best they may to ’scape the greater ill 
Of treason to their lieges ; but this comes 
Not of our ruler’s willing, but from him 
Who plays upon her fears, — good instrument 
Wherewith to pipe a woman on his way 
To profitable deeds. 

Arthur. But I care not 

Who masters all this mischief ; let us go 
And mend it with our swords. 


I 20 


The Rival Queens 
Norfolk. Ay, that, but slow. 

We need to reckon ere the end is won 
With all the devil’s cunning. We’ve a ship 
Safe on the nearby shore and with good men, — 
Brave trusty helpers in true hearts from Spain. 
When we come to her prison we will in 
With our five score of friends who play it well 
As common men at arms. At dead of night 
Swift stroke will do the rest ; for all our holds 
Are ready to lend succour that will halt 
Their chace upon our heels. 

Arthur. Go we with her ? 

Norfolk. Ay, for a time : we shall not breathe 
well here, 

But welcome find with comrades o’er the sea. 
They’ll stay us with a shout at our brave deed, 

For their hearts still are quick to chivalry 
That rights a woman’s wrongs. 

Arthur. When come we back ? 

Norfolk. So soon as we are backed with men 
and ships 

And Alva’s force is ready for the spring 
That sets them by our side. 

Arthur. They are our foes ; 

And leagued with them we ’ll be our England’s 
foes. 


I 21 


The Rival Queens 
Fit to be slain by meanest that these fields 
Breed up in shape of man. Let us straight on ; 
Storm that hard castle ; set her in our midst ; 

And, with our banners streaming south, trust well 
Unto our faithful people. We ’ll be few 
Who ’scape brave Paulet’s strokes, but every thorpe 
Will send us help till half our folk are ranked 
To win back honour. 

Norfolk. That ’s mere fancy, lad. 

For other half will set upon our host. 

We need our kinsmen’s help. 

Arthur. I ’ll none of that ; 

Until she ’s past yon gate I ’ll serve my lord. 

For so I ’m bound. But if I haply ’scape 
From that stout doing, I will bid her come 
Straightway with me to seek her rightful place 
As heir unto our throne. If she come not 
But go with ye to league her with our foes, 

I ’ll fare alone to kneel by judgment’s seat 
And beg reprieve till I find chance to die 
In the stout lines ye ’ll meet upon our shore 
To hurl ye in the sea. 

Norfolk \astde\. Like sire, like son, — 
Half traitors to each cause that claims their hearts. 
[To Arthur.] Thou wert a beggar when unto my 
house 


122 The Rival Queens 

Thou cam’st an orphan child ; I made thee man 

And asked no pay but service of thy sword, 

Well swung in noble actions. 

Arthur. Ay, my lord. 

From Norfolk’s table came the meat that fed 
That starveling boy to strength, and he hath drunk 
The wine of honour in your noble house. 

What he had there hath nurtured what this land 
By worthy sires bred in him of true man. 

His name and yours alike forbid this deed, 

And bid him better die. 

Norfolk. No more of this ; 

We ’ll forth unto our task, when thou shalt see 
How in hard doing step by step we on 
Until we find whereto our actions lead, — 

Far other than we dreamed. 

Arthur. My lord, let me 

Go first in our assault, for I dare not 
Into this peril. 

Norfolk. Quick thy sleeping wits 
And see us standing traitors by the block ! 

Our errand ’s treason from the first step on ; 

So we should to brave ending of our plans. 

And reap a worthy harvest. 

Arthur. Well I know 

The sternest judge doth sit in our own soul : 


123 


The Rival Queens 
Fair mercy sways not ’gainst His sentences; 

No lenience spares the pain. I well can face 
The court that tries me, and for answer say 
I sought to rid this noble land of shame. 

Thence it is but a step unto the end, — 

The end the soldier seeks, — in faith well kept 
As God hath shown it him. 

Norfolk [aside], We ’ll out of here, 

And end in doing all this paltering. 

This tricky roundhead cant that maketh knaves 
Where nature shaped us men. [To Arthur.] 
Sound call to horse : 

We ’ll find men in that hold who ’ll swiftly teach 
Thee and thy kind what is the soldier’s part. 

[‘ Trumpets sound. 

End of Scene. 

SCENE III 

Entrance of Castle. 

Keeper and Officers. 

Keeper [to Officer of Guard]. Send forth our 
scouts ; bid them to search each hold 
And judge their preparations. Bring us here 
All who own kinship with Lord Percy’s line 
And the hard fighting Dacres ; leave no lad. 


124 The Rival Queens 

Though he pipes like a quail : they ’re born with 

swords 

And ’fore their teens are fit to lead a host. 

Search all their churches through to see no arms 
Lie with their traitorous dead waiting the trump 
Of treason that ’s afoot. On, all the night ; 

And while ’t is dark the’ ’re castles on the hills 
A chance may turn to torches ; if they burn 
They will not need a siege. 

Officer. What comes, my lord, 

That we are forth thus rudely on this folk 
We ’ve long entreated gently ? 

Keeper. Note of war 

In message from our queen ; she bids us check. 

So far we may, the great lords of the north, 

That Parma have no comfort when he sets 
His force on Yorkshire coast. They plan to rise 
And swell his veteran host with all their men 
In touch of shoulders with our Spanish foes. 

Their yokels are half faithful ; if we cage 
The leaders quickly they will slip away 
Or make faint hearted fight. [Exit Officer. 

[To another Officer .] Double our posts 

And plant them half a league beyond our gates. 

Bid them hold hard and lie where they have stood. 
We ’ll have no rout upon us with the chance 


The Rival Queens 125 

Of melee here within. ’T is charged we keep 
The Scottish queen unknowing of what comes, 
Lest she may join contrivance with our foes ; 

That none unto her save those trusted lords 
Who share our sovereign’s council ; that e’en such 
Be reckoned narrowly for what they do. 

’T is well our liege knows there ’s within this air, 
Sweet from yon Scotland’s heather, foul disease 
That sickens men to treason. 

Warder [from Tower], Ho ! afar 
Ride on a troop of horse. They hasten here. 

E’en now they front our post. 

Keeper. Bear they as foes ? 

Warder. Nay, they are friends. Our men now 
give them way 

With the salute that tells a noble’s guard. 

He spurs before them ; he is near the gate. 

Shall he have bridge to us ? 

Keeper. Nay, bid him stand 

To say from whence and why in this rude time : 
We ’ll judge his purpose. But let all his host 
Bide yet without the walls. 

Warder. Stand ! Who comes here ? 

Voice [without ] . A friend for better welcome 
than ye give, 

With drawbridge up and shout as to a foe. 


126 The Rival Queens 

'T is Norfolk, first of English peers, here come 
To scan your doings at your queen's command 
And order of her council. 

Warder. Yea, my lord. 

We open to the law. 

[Drawbridge lowers , and Norfolk enters 
the court ; then it rises. 

Keeper. Welcome, Lord Norfolk. 

Norfolk. Welcome 's a fair word 

That is not writ, good Paulet, on thy gate;* 

But in its place ‘ begone ' for those who fare 
Unto this hostel where we lodge a queen 
Who claims her kindred's help. [Looking about .] 
Where are my guards ? 

Ho, warder ! give them way. Down bridge and 
lift 

Portcullis for my men, else we will drub 
A soldier’s lesson on thy coward hide. 

[Draws sword and starts for Tower. 
Keeper bars him. 

Keeper. Nay, good my lord, your men must 
bide without : 

Our orders hold that you may enter here. 

Her trusted servant ; further we trust not. 

Our force is shorn in scouting, we are few 
To make our ramparts safe; our brothers know. 


The Rival Queens 127 

Who have shared war, how friends must hold them 
foes 

In cold faced duty while their hearts are warm. 
Your men are well bestowed. 

Norfolk. Open yon gate; 

And I will back with them unto our liege, 
Bearing this load of shame ; leave else undone 
For her good reckoning. 

Keeper. Nay, my lord, not that. 

You ’ve ridden far and have a soldier’s sense 
Of war that broodeth o’er this northern land 
In castle and in cot. You maun bide here 
Until your blood is cooled, and you have seen 
What she would have you know. 

Norfolk [after a time , laughing ]. So caged by 
friends. 

Ay, thou art right, mine ancient. Idle words 
Have found their fit reproof. War comes not here, 
And yet ’t is captain’s part to judge it hid 
Under the wings of peace. I will review 
Your preparations proved enough to me 
In the good service of well guarded gate, 

Speak with your noble guest, and to our liege 
Bear fair report of all. 

Keeper. So well, my lord, 

We pray you narrowly to scan this hold ; 


128 The Rival Queens 

Unto your soldier’s eye all will be plain 
That notes of soldier’s duty. When you come 
To question that strange mystery we guard 
Pray all your saints for safety, for you ’ll stand 
’Fore mortal peril. Yea, all men soon die 
Who look into her eyes and lend their hearts 
To their fierce mastering. 

Norfolk. They tell she ’s old, 

Worn by her hopeless vigils to the ghost 
Of that fair girl who once set hearts afire 
E’en where they ’re steeped in mists. 

Keeper. She may be old, 

Yet in her bides the tigress’ during youth 
With the old serpent’s wisdom. ’Ware her eyes ; 
Her siren voice that maketh danger’s sea 
Seem fairest place to swim ; her shape of Eve 
That wakes wild Adam in the heart of man, 
Though he be dotard, if he looks o’er long 
And steeleth not his heart with memory 
Of what hath been before. 

Norfolk. Ho, man, ye ’re wild 

To think this courtier will doff his head 
Along with bonnet to your phantom queen 
As some poor churl who ’s never seen a dame 
And marvels at their wiles. 

Keeper. Know ye, my lord, 


The Rival Queens 129 

That for long years our best men, one by one, 

Go to yon scaffold for their broken faith. 

There swings the last who on the yesterday 
Bore letters for her seeking Alva’s aid 
To slay our queen and mount upon her throne 
As Philip’s vassal. ’Fore he died, he told 
Of how the devil with a whip of fire 
Lashed him unto the deed. He ’ll have us all 
Unless your council ends it. 

Norfolk. Good Paulet, 

Thy soul fits not this gaoling ; thou wert made 
For man’s stout doing in the face of man. 

And not to watch a spectre fade away 
Into the darkness. ’T is a denaturing task. 

And sorely profitless to all this realm. 

It sets thy wits awry. Let us go on 
To view this castle ; then I will to her 
And find damnation if I be a fool, 

Yet scape with weariness of woman’s plaints 
And folly that doth peril make of them. 

Nay, nay, I blame thee not: here is thy part, 

And done right faithfully. But Cecil finds 
Safety in searching treasons for his own 
Against this good land’s peace. Were she away, 
Back to her native France or Scotland’s brawls, 
All would be well with us but ill with him, 

The source of all our ills. 


i3° 


The Rival Queens 


Keeper. 


Have care, my lord ; 


You have but seen afar, and we judge near. 


We cage a foe that free would league with Spain 
And England make his vassal ; send swift back 
The hosts of Rome to spoil us ; set again 
The fires of Smithfield in each thorpe and town. 
There is but one way out, — one swift, sure way, 
For which she ’s writ the warrant. 

Norfolk [aside]. Mad, all mad, 

And in their madness plotting villainy. 

[To Keeper.] Let us go on; I would the woman 
see 

Who from her well worn cage doth threat the 
world. 



End of Scene . 


SCENE IV 

Castle of Carlisle. 

Mary, Priest, Margaret Lambrun, and 
Attendants . 

[A stir outside . 

Mary. Who cometh now to spy upon our 
woes ? 

Margaret. His grace of Norfolk. 

Mary. He should be a man 


The Rival Queens 13 i 

With gentle heart, — if heart be left in man : 

He had a noble mother, and his sire 
Was true to us. 

Priest. My queen, he is our hope : 

That he is here tells us the Lord now sends 
His bow to light the storm that so hath beat 
On our offending heads. 

Mary. How can it be ? 

She knows her instruments ; with jealous skill 
Chooses her tools for torture. ’T is new trick 
That sends a noble for foul work that knaves 
Lacked wit to do. 

Priest. Ask not how Providence 

Finds us the way to safety ; let us go 
Bravely upon it. 

Mary. Oh, how can we trust ? 

He is her cousin ; half of him is hers. 

And that makes all the fiend’s. 

Priest. Nay, my good queen, 

His faith is in our hands, for he is true 
To church that holds him firm. The else of 
him 

You ’ll find the way to fasten to your will 
With a fair greeting, for he is a man 
And very living. 

Mary. So you would that we — 


132 The Rival Queens 

Priest. We are His servants with His work 
to do ; 

Our strength is for His service. 

Mary. ’T is a chance ; 

We ’ll try it well. Mayhap we ’ll picklock find 
In fancy fed by favours. Say to him 
We bid him welcome here. [Exit Priest. 

[To Margaret Lambrun.] Good Margaret, 

Set us our best, for we must win this chance 
To break these bars. 

Marg. Oh my good queen, not that ! 

No more, no more, we dare of that no more. 

For it hath led us here. See the foul deep 
Where this will cast us. God hath sent us woe ; 
If with our hard hearts we do shape new shame, 
Then will He send us death. 

Mary. Quick, woman, quick, — 

See what thou wilt, but serve. Shape of the dark 
All that it hath of folly for the fool, 

But do our bidding. 

Marg. [kneeling ] . Open her eyes, O God, 
That she may see what Thou hast shown to me 
And save her from Thy wrath. 

Mary. Peace, woman, peace, 

Take other time for madness; now we need 


*33 


The Rival Queens 
Helpers of hope, for we are near despair 
And have no way but this. 

Marg. My queen, my queen, 

I am thy servant and would willing die 
To set thee free ; but — 

Mary. Nay, we bid thee live. 

T is better service, for the dead help not 
Save to o’erload our burthen. See, the Lord 
Hath left us but ourself to win our way; 

All that we have must serve us in our need. 

Yea, it hath cost us sore in days gone by, 

But then we were a spendthrift. Have no fear ; 
Thy mistress’ heart, now cold as Scotland’s earth, 
Holds to a hard accounting, where of old 
It spent in folly. But this Norfolk comes, 

Our cousin, yea, as hers. If we can win 
His manly heart to us, all may be well, 

And we beyond the seas for what shall be 
In days hereafter. 

Marg. Nay, my mistress dear. 

He sendeth us chastisement for our sins ; 

And we should bow our hearts unto His will. 

Not smite Him with our hate. No priest can stand 
Between us and His eyes. 

Mary. No more of that ; 

We bear with heresy when it doth help. 


134 The Rival Queens 

And smite it when it hinders. To thy task. 

And make me fit for mine. 

[Margaret, sadly and in silence , attends 
her mistress . 

End of Scene . 

SCENE V 

Prison in Castle. 

Mary, Margaret Lambrun, and Servants . 

Mary [looking in glass , to Margaret]. Now is 
thy task well done : we are ourself, — 
Clean of this prison and those weary years. 

Ay, so God sent us with this crown of youth 
To rule the hearts of men. 

Margaret. My liege is fair 

As when she came to Scotland as its queen, 

And all men bowed before her. 

Mary. Nay, but then 

She was a fool, and in her folly dreamed 
This cobweb love a chain, to bind for aye ; 

She now is wise, and holds it as a bait 
Wherewith to trap her gaolers. 

Marg. Oh, my liege — 

Mary. Nay, spare her sermons. She but seeks 
the key 


*35 


The Rival Queens 
Wherewith to ope her prison and to go. 

Asking her peace with God for what hath been 
But shall not be hereafter. Bring that Norfolk 
here. 

We ’ll have this task swift done. 

[ Exit Margaret. 
Mary [alone]. First he should be our jailer; 
next our friend ; 

Then our remembered kinsman ; ah, and then — 
What fate may send for service. If he have 
Man’s madness in him, we will out of this 
And leave him reckoning before her gate. 

Enter Margaret. 

What now, good dame ? 

Marg. He comes, my liege. 

Mary. With guards about him as the others 
came, — 

Each for new villainy, and proof of it 
From half a score of knaves ? 

Marg. Nay, my dear queen. 

He is a very noble, and he ’s here, 

A suitor for your bidding, with the grace 
That fits a gentleman. 

Mary. Oh, it is strange 

To know a courtier waits beside our door ! 

What retinue hath he ? 


136 The Rival Queens 

Marg. He is alone ; 

He bade his guards attend him past the gate. 
Mary. So he puts by the gaoler, — signs him 
friend 

Before he seeks our presence. ’T is half done. 

See that we be alone, — but stay thou near 
To ward in peril, for we know not yet 
What this portends. Yea, my good Margaret, 
Thy hand and heart are all that ’s left me now. 

To save or to avenge. 

Marg. Nay, my man’s leal. 

Mary. Ay, as are men ; but not as women true, 
As I have known them in their love or hate, — 
Insatiate, changeless, recking of no pay 
Save what their hearts may dole them for their deeds. 
Bring in this hungry noble sent from sky 
To do God’s work of rescue. Oh, we ’ll find 
His wage is written in his wary eyes, 

And must be counted him ere he will stir 
To do his service. Go, and bid him here. 

[Exit Margaret. Mary reclines on 
couch and rests as if sleeping . Enter 
Norfolk, ushered by Margaret. 
Norfolk [to Margaret]. Oh, who is this that 
sleeps as if death stood 
Beside her couch ? 


The Rival Queens 137 

Marg. It is our queen, my lord. 

To this your folk have brought her who once was 
The sun of two fair realms, — so wan and low. 
Yet still the fairest queen of all this world. 

Bide ; she will soon arouse and speak with you. 
We pray you bring her comfort. 

[Margaret slips away . 
Norfolk. Yea, she ’s fair 

As ever woman born to break men’s hearts. 

A face so pure it might have looked on Christ 
When as a babe she held Him to her breast, 

A form such as the Maker pattern set 
In our dear common mother for the shape 
That woman should be heir to. All forlorn 
That should be joy. Shame on our hearts and 
hands 

That this hath been and is ! See, now she stirs 

[Mary rises . 

And would have speech with me. 

Mary. What bring you now 

Of fear or torment new ? Tell me I die 
Before forgotten sun goes to the sea, 

And I will thank you for it. 

Norfolk. Nay, my queen — 

Mary. Hast found thy heart ? Oh gaoler, hear 
my prayer : 


138 The Rival Queens 

I dare not die in darkness ; my poor soul 
Would fain away, but clings unto this dust 
With fear of these hard walls. Bear me afar 
Unto the meanest fallow of this land 
Where I may drink once more the air of heaven 
And loose my spirit forth unto its rest. 

Ay, slay me there, if life abide too long, 

And I will thank thee with my parting breath. 
For His sake grant me this. 

[Norfolk kneels beside her . 
Norfolk. Help me, ye saints, 

To save her from this woe ! 

Mary. Oh, who art thou 

That dares to speak of saving in this deep ? 

Nay, thou art not a gaoler, but a man, — 

A gentleman, — such as once trod this earth 
Before their kind was dead. The Christ hath sent 
Thee as His messenger to bear me hence. 

Let us away ! the worst is ease to this : 

Those fiends are not our kinsmen, and their lash 
Will lack the burning torment that here comes 
From kindred hands that smite. 

Norfolk. My gracious queen, 

I am no spirit, but a man who ’d prove 
His kind not dead but ready still to die 
To spare God's earth this shame. 


The Rival Queens 139 

Mary. Good mortal, go 

Back to the herd : here is no room for thee ; 

The morrow thou wilt die, or else thy soul 
Be Satan’s captive, — herald of new shames 
To make me long for hell. These years I ’ve seen 
Full many gaolers enter in these walls 
With light of sun in eyes, and heaven’s breath 
Still in their living hearts ; but swift they changed 
To ghosts that wept beside me or to fiends 
That did her will. Nay, go, and tell yon world 
Thou ’st seen a woman who fled to this realm 
In sorest trouble, praying sister’s help. 

Scant grace of room, and peace wherein to die, — 
Chained in a dungeon, parted from her life 
And yet walled in from death. Say thou hast seen 
The spectre of a sovereign who was heir 
Unto their ancient throne a prisoned ghost ; 

For that usurping bastard feared to trust 
The folk to hail her dead. Yea, cry to them 
Who were brave England’s nobles that she lies 
Hard by their castles that once held for faith 
And knightly honour, but hear now no more 
The wail of woman or our Lord’s command. 
Thou would’st be kind ? Go, then, and spare the pain 
Of other parting. Bear a message hence 
Unto my cousin Norfolk : say to him, — 


140 The Rival Queens 

Or to his grave, for he is surely dead, — 

That in her woe her sore heart turned to his, 

And hope was yet until she knew him gone. 
Though dastards deem he lives. 

[Norfolk takes her hand . 
Norfolk. Oh, stay, my queen ! 

Here is thy kinsman Norfolk, and that shame 
Burns in his living heart. Would he could plead 
Earth’s weight upon it for his recreancy 
Awhile in idle days it lay as dead ; 

Now, were he graved, thy words would send him 
back 

To quick his dust and snatch again his arms 
In battle for his cousin and his queen. 

Mary [kneeling to him\. Oh, God is merciful. 
He sent thee here 

To tell He lives and reigns, to bid me bear 
In patience with my tasking to the end. 

So doth He break my prison, and let in 
With faith the light of heaven and the hope 
For peace within its gates. Ah, Norfolk, Norfolk, 
Thou hast unbound earth’s sorest gyves and set 
My tortured soul upon the way to God, 

Whence sorrow barred it while there came no light 
From kinsmen’s eyes and men were villains all. 
Now I would there. 


The Rival Queens 141 

Norfolk [embracing her\. Nay, I will hold thee 
here. 

Yea, be it with the swords of England’s men, 

Who ’ll break their graves so soon thou look’st on 
them. 

And know their life in light of thy dear eyes, 

As I have done. 

Mary. Alas ! that hope ’s now fear. 

What canst thou do, dear cousin, ’gainst the might, 
The Satan’s might, that ’s conjured all this land. 
Away, away, and save me this last pang 
Of thy vain death in hapless noble quest. 

Nay, hence, and mourn her dead who might have 
been 

A happy woman, hadst thou to her come 
With true heart for her stay in years agone 
Before fate lashed her on the fearful way. 

Thy coming has but shown her where the dawn 
Mounts o’er the world she parts from. 

Norfolk. Nay, my love, 

My coming is the dawn of gracious years 
Where we will onward, leaving all that ’s been 
To lie forgotten in the night it made. 

Those morrows shall mount up for this fair realm 
With suns to lift the hearts of England’s folk 
To all the merriment of ancient days. 


142 The Rival Queens 

When, from their cradles to their graves, they 
went 

True to their thrones of loved earth and heaven. 
Then in each other’s eyes we ’ll find the light 
To guide us surely, for it shall be faith 
Each in the other and in God we serve. 

For this thy lover comes. 

Mary. Nay, ’t is a dream ! 

Strange dream for these hard walls. I too have 
dreamed 

That God might rend them, yet the years wear on ; 
Anon His thunder quakes the firm set earth, 

And yet they stay unriven, oid I die 
So sealed I see not when the lightnings flash. 

Yea, I have dreamed of angels and of men 
With hearts to succor, and yet here I die 
And nothing stirs about me but the tread 
Of silent watchers who list patiently 
For my last breath. 

Norfolk. Ay, there ’s another dream, 

Dreamt by brave men who waken from long sleep 
With all their hearts afire in the glow 
That came in God-sent vision and the cheer 
Of hard gripped arms and sight of deeds to do, — 
A dream to shape an empire and to right 
With one swift stroke an age’s host of wrong. 


The Rival Queens 143 

Mary [taking Norfolk’s hand']. Your hand, 
my lord, is white as is mine own. 

Small as a woman’s, yet it knows a sword 
And a brave heart its master. Cleave me there 
A passage through these walls unto my realm, 

And ere I tread it I will be your wife. 

The faithfullest that ever graced this world. 

For then I ’ll owe to thee all earth may lend 
And give of poverty for ill return, 

Save for a woman’s love that is all thine. 

Go now ; they ’gin to watch. Farewell, and swift ; 
For day by day these adamantine stones 
Creep nearer to my heart, and in each hour 
Those caitiffs gather courage for the stroke 
They dare not yet to send. Oh Norfolk, haste ! 
Or to thy call I must my answer make 
In a far cry and faint from yonder shore, 

Where lovers have not save dear memories 
Or sorrow for their missing. 

Norfolk [ kissing her]. Oh my love, 

My soul is long away and I will go 
With it to chase the deed ; and if I fail 
I will be first upon that far-off shore 
With fairest retinue that ever graced 
The coming of a queen. 

Mary. Not that, not that ! 


144 The R jval Queens 

For now I taste life’s wine I would not die. 

But live with thee awhile we drink our fill 
Together from the cup. 

Norfolk. Yea, this; then that. 

So shall we have our harvest of this world 
And of the next. [ Exit Norfolk. 

Mary [alone]. Fair hand and face and eager 
pleading tongue. 

With wit to toss his phrases to the skies 
And catch rebound in the smart juggler’s way 
As ’t is the fashion. Hungry, and yet not base. 
There ’s service in him if ’t is but to stir 
The drowsy blood of hosts that should be here. 

He will not be their leader, yet there ’ll come 
To top the surge he raises some strong man 
With might to break this prison, set me free 
For the dear work to do, and claim his pay 
As this smart dancer seeks it. When ’t is done, 
We ’ll need a besom that shall sweep away 
Her and her folk, and leave us empty fields 
For a new race that serves its rightful kings. 

Nay, cousin Norfolk, thou art fair and dear, 

Fit for a maiden’s toy, but not for this ; 

Time was it might have been, but that time ’s 
dead : 

Another dawns that needs a rugged man 


The Rival Queens 145 

Near to our side who hath a sword of flame 
And heart it will not scorch. 

End of Scene . 


SCENE VI 

Courtyard of Castle. 

Norfolk, Warder, Guards . 

Guards in confusion . Sound of trumpets without . 
Enter Keeper. 

Keeper. Where is Lord Norfolk ? 

Warder. He is even forth; 

His trumpet calls his guards. 

Keeper. Why goes he thus ? 

Warder. He came as trusted and he went as 
such ; 

Though we have barred our gate ’gainst evil chance. 
Keeper. Straight from our prisoner, — with- 
out farewell ? 

Warder. Ay, straight, without a word, though 
stuff for words 

Was hid behind his face. But see, he comes 
As if to hail again. He ’ll speak with you. 

Norfolk. Hail ! worthy Paulet, once more thy 
hard port 


146 The Rival Queens 

Denies us passage. Yea, ’t is ticklish gear 
For faithfullest to fool with, lest they find 
It opens only in. So we are forth 
Unto our liege to tell her how you hold 
A wondrous rat-trap for her service here. 

Keeper. My lord, farewell. [ They ride away, 
[ To Warder.] We need know where he fares, 

And what his men did here. 

Warder. You mean his gentlemen ? 

Keeper. Nay, his men at arms. 

Warder. They were no common knaves, 

But noblemen and knights who were well hid 
Beneath their hired jackets. 

Keeper. Ho ! ’t is read ; 

It ’s well they stayed without. 

Warder. Else we’d now stay 

In very pretty pickle, — such of us 
As kept the sense for it. 

Keeper. Spied they about ? 

Warder. The boy who seemed their captain 
searched right well, 

As with a soldier’s sense for vantages. 

Twice carefully where our east ditch lies dry 
And wall beyond it tumbled. 

Keeper. He ’ll take the trap, 

And find two fathoms and the devil there. 

End of Scene . 


The Rival Queens 


147 


SCENE VII 


Eastern Side of Castle. 


Time, midnight . 

Keeper, Warder, and Guards. 

[ Alarms . 

Keeper. Smite hard the foremost, watch who 
leadeth them : 

We need have him alive. Line all our walls. 

Lest this may be a feint. Sweep well the ditch 
With fire from your guns. They enter in. 

For its dark waters splash upon this shore 
In waves that tell stout swimmers come to us. 
They must not win them here : we are too few 
And dare not risk a lodgment, with the land 
In arms about us. Ha ! ’t is black, but see 
How shine their eager eyes and arms upheld 
As on they strive. Yea, they are soldiers true. 
Undaunted by this deep we ’ve set for them. 
Quick, with our message ! 

[Flash and roar of guns. A solitary enemy 
mounts the shore and rushes at Warder. 
Guards strike him down. Warder 
seeks to save him. 


Spare ! this is a man ; 


148 The Rival Queens 

Like come not oft to us. ’Ware what ’s behind : 

Such valour should lead hosts. 

Warder. Nay, he ’s alone; 

The rest lie in the ditch, its waters still 
To ruddy wavelets, showing all are gone 
That valiant folly led to wild essay. 

Here comes our outposts captain ; he will tell 
The chance of further danger. 

Keeper. What lurks without ? 

Captain. Night’s silence bides for leagues be- 
yond our gates, 

Well swept by our swift riders. We came in 
At your command to set upon their rear 
With our fast closing lines ; but none we found, — 
No man hied back. 

Keeper. What of Lord Norfolk’s force ? 

Captain. He marched straight south; but on 
the eve his camp 

Was in a tumult, and a score of men 
Rode swift away. The yokels knew not where, 
Nor did the thumb-screws help their memory 
To more than that they rode as folk who went 
Where they were bidden to, and that a wood 
Soon hid them from their seeing. We judge they 
came 

On forest by-ways till near to this hold, 


The Rival Queens 149 

Then slew their horses lest the stir might tell 
Their presence to our scouts, — thence crept on 
here 

To strike thus hopelessly. 

Keeper. Mayhap this guest 

Who asked not for our bridge but chose to swim, 
If he can speak to us, will clear this count 
Of Norfolk’s doings. 

Warder [stooping]. Nay, he is the Lord’s, 

And answers but to Him. 

Keeper [looking over body], Alas! ’t is Petrie’s 
son !. 

Brave boy the knave hath nursed to serve his ends, 
Who when his daunted master slunk away 
Went straight forth to his task as doth a man 
With his good like behind him. [To Surgeon.] 
Ho, my leech. 

See if this lad have life within him yet 
And nurse what spark is left. 

[Surgeon examines him . 
Surgeon. ’T is yet a swoon. 

He is sore hurt, but ’fore such lusty youth 
We dare to laugh at death. Best let him die: 

A little more of bleeding, and he goes 
With easy ’scape of worse. 

Keeper. Quick, blockhead, quick ! 


150 The Rival Queens 

Or else thou hang’st for murder. Where’s the 
rogue 

Who scorns our liege with thought that she would 
slay 

This child who hath enriched her castle old 
With noblest valour ? Let him hie to her 
With prayer for sparing; he’ll have need to pray 
For mended hide. 

[Surgeon binds up wounds. Young Petrie 
revives . 

Petrie. Where am I ? Where my men ? 
[Strives to rise.] On, on with ye ! 

That one is down is nothing. 

Keeper. Nay, lie still ; 

Thy men give thee example. Thou ’st played the 
fool 

In charging on a realm with but a score. 

Yet we would have such folly in our sons 
To ripen in sound wisdom. Here, drink this. 

[Gives him drink. 

I know that thirst, my boy ; and eke the sore 
When it ’s assuaged and we find that we live, 
Beaten and caged, as pay for all we ’ve spent. 

Thou ’It long for death ; but live to wash this out 
With loyal doing. 

Petrie. Oh, no ; I must die. 


The Rival Queens 151 

And yet, good foe, I beg you tell my liege 
This was no traitor to our land and her. 

But one who strove to quit us of a shame 
That soiled her land and crown ; that had he won 
The morrow he had gone to lay his sword 
And life before her throne. 

Keeper. No more of this. — 

Have him to bed and cared for. Send a troop 
To trail that jackal to his dirty lair ; 

We ’ll keep this lion cub, and have him fed 
On better meat for waxing to his strength 
Than Norfolk’s house doth know. 


End of Act Fourth . 


ACT FIFTH 



SCENE I 

Audience Room at Whitehall. 
Elizabeth and Cecil. Afterwards Messenger 
from Queen Mary. 

Elizabeth [to Cecil]. 

[HAT now, good mentor ? What hath 
come to us 

Of Norfolk’s errand? Doth he set 
us war 

With Percys, Dacres, and their host of knaves 
Marching to greet us here ? 

Cecil. My liege, your eyes 

Look well into all coverts. We have drawn 
From this some nimble foxes who will give 
Fair sport ere they ’re to earth. ’T is best ye hear 
The tale of it from Paulet’s messenger. 

Who ’ll tell it well and truly. 

Eliz. Have him here : 

We need to face this soon and see our way 
Unto the smiting. 

[Cecil goes to door and admits Messenger. 



The Rival Queens 153 

Cecil [ to Elizabeth], He waits your question- 
ing. 

Eliz. Welcome, my soldier, who in years agone 
Brought us the tidings of that faring here ; 

We saw it merrily and little dreamed 
What it, alas, would spin. % 

Officer. My queen hath memory 

As fits a sovereign, and her servants find 
Their best of wage in it. 

Eliz. Alas ! and little else. 

Yea, thou hast stayed unchanged for all thou ’rt 
worn 

With weary watching of that during shame, — 
Sore task for soldier’s heart. Tell us what passed 
From Norfolk’s coming to your gate to end. 

Off. He came to us a se’nnight since at noon, 
Pricked ’fore his ten score guards, and entered in 
To scoff our gates and us ; fell into rage 
At finding we barred out his troop of knights 
And nobles’ sons who masked as common men. 

He swallowed well that grief and went his way 
To glimpse the castle o’er with never word 
Or sign of hand to help us with his skill 
To better its defence. Then he went in 
For speech with Scotland’s queen. ’T was over- 
long. 


154 The Rival Queens 

When he came forth at eve he spoke no man 
Who tried for word with him ; but silent went, 

As musing, through our wicket ; summoned swift 
His guards about him ; shouted his farewell 
And taunt that showed his mind ; then rode away 
As if he feared fit answer at his back. 

Eliz. So far ’t is well ; we read it easily ; 

Yet this is but beginning. What came then ? 

Off. My liege, ’t is hard to tell save in bald 
deeds 

That lack interpreting. He had with him 
A noble stripling, captain of his troop, 

Who while they stayed went sauntering round our 
walls 

As though he sought in manner of a boy 
To scan its windows and mayhap have glance 
From dame within. He seemed so blithe and 
young 

Our sentries stayed him not, save for a hail 
And merry answer sent ; yet after knew 
That twice he came where our wide ditch lay dry 
And inner wall half wrecked ; looked eagerly. 

As if in mind he leapt it at a bound ; 

Then hied him back, a-singing ancient lay 
Of prisoned lass and lover, to his post 
To wait his sullen lord. 


The Rival Queens 155 

Eliz. Oh, that ’s well told. 

You paint as do our masters when they limn 
A lad to catch our fancy, who ’s to bring 
Brave deeds from dreams ; so, we ’re already half 
His lover from this picture. 

Off. Yea, and we 

Are all his lovers, for we found him foe 
Who smote us as a man. 

Eliz. That fits ; but how. 

With Norfolk for a leader ? 

Off. He led not ; 

But from the midnight stealing in there came 
A scanty score of men who swept straight on, 
Undaunted by the flood where they had recked 
To find good footing ; plunged therein and swam, 
While all our cannon played upon their heads. 

One ’scaped the flood and fire, rushed at us 
To claim the stroke we gave unwillingly, 

Sore guerd for valour, but the soldier’s right. 

Eliz. Ah, ha ! It was our lad ! 

Off. Yea, liege, who else ? 

Eliz. Well said, who else ? Or it had spoiled 
the play. 

Ye set a trap for him, a villain springe, 

And caught him like a woodcock. 

Off. Nay, my queen, 


156 The Rival Queens 

We were too few to man our walls about ; 

Our men were forth in scouting ; so our lord 
Fixed where assault would come with ditch that 
stayed 

Empty the day but fatal deep at night 
With hidden culverins to sweep it well 
Where seemed but ruined wall. ’T was a keen 
ruse : 

E’en our dead foes would count it fair and know 
They fell by master’s hand. 

Eliz. He too is dead ? 

Off. Alas! I know not; when I rode he lay 
With death and leech contending for his life. 

The leech did claim the battle. 

Eliz. ’T is their way. 

Spoke he at all ? 

Off. Yea, liege, he bade us bear 

A message to ye : that there died in him 
No traitor to his loved queen and land ; 

That he but fought to clear your realm and throne 
From ancient shame, then lay his sword and life 
Here at your feet. So spake he and was still, 

For all we sought to find what else there was 
To make the story plain. 

Eliz. ’T is plain enough. 

Would he were here and that shame past the sea : 


The Rival Queens 157 

’T were then a better world. What of that knave 
Who left to our poor lad to do the deed 
That palled his coward heart ? 

Off. He slunk away 

We know not where. Mayhap to join his force 
With the mad rabble rumour tells in York, 

Or other musterings for war that comes. 

We little cared, for in that youth we hold. 

Dead or alive, the only fit to lead 
Their host to deeds. 

Eliz. Would that the lad were here. 

Or we had word he lives. There ’s need of such. 
We would not have them rebels, yet would take 
Something of treason to be sure this land 
Hath stuff to breed them still. 

Cecil. Yet see, my liege: 

Were this lad here the law would bid him hang, 
For he ’s a confessed traitor to this realm. 

Eliz. Yea, Cecil, he shall hang, both high and 
long, 

Here in this very court, — a sign to all 
Of how we treasure valiant faith in men 
And would forget its errings. 

Cecil. But, my queen. 

That bringeth danger near. 

Eliz. 


Cecil, were we 


158 The Rival Queens 

Old Roman monarch, — master at our will. 

And not poor servant of our folk and law, — 

We ’d fill our house with traitors such as this. 

If dear earth sent them, and then sleep in peace. 
As we may not for fear of loyal men 
Whose hearts have never known the grace of God 
To bid them die as he. Yea, he shall bide, 

The lonely star of all this cloud wrapped night 
That fate hath set above. [To Officer.] We ’d 
know his name 

And who the sire that gave us such a son. 

Off. He was Lord Petrie’s lad. 

Cecil. Ho, Petrie’s son ? 

Eliz. We might have guessed, my Cecil; such 
a deed 

Gave token of the sire — a truer man, 

For all his treason, than the most who stayed 
With loyal shouts beside us. Wouldst thou hang 
The wounds of this poor boy to please the law ? 
Cecil. Nay, mistress, thou art right, — as 
woman right 

In seeing far where men are dull and blind. 

Fill up our mansions of the earth and sky 
With such to give us safety. Peace to him ! 

I loved his father, who is dearer yet 
For this good memory of valiant son, — 

His very own. 


The Rival Queens i 

Eliz. Now to our sorry task : 

Tell us, good soldier, what ’s the rebel force, 

And what we need to give it certain quell 
And swift, to spare our folk. 

Off. At most they ’ll set 

Ten thousand on the march, — a motley crew, 
Half armed and led, who smite but for their priests 
And for fierce cry of love that ’s in their hearts. 
Eliz. Where are their lords, — those wild kings 
of the north 

Who share with Scotland in the savage ways 
They misname freedom ? 

Off. Most bide in your hold, 

Where they ’ll lie safely till your task is done. 

The others lag to question sky and sea ; 

They set their walls in order for stout siege, 

But hang no banners o’er them, for they wait 
Each on the other lest they jump amiss 
And find them in the deep. 

Cecil \to Elizabeth]. Ay, they are bound 
By the good seals that hold their new won lands. 
We judged your father spendthrift when he gave 
The church’s realms as dole unto our lords ; 

But he saw well the end, saw how those glebes 
Would grow him ramparts ’gainst the might of 
Rome. 

Our task is with the peasants and their priests. 


160 The Rival Queens 

Eliz. ’T will need hard stroke ; but when ’t is 
done, ’t is done : 

There comes no aftermath from this war’s fields. 
Have Sussex here for counsel and command. 

[Cecil sends Messenger . 
Forerun his doing by swift summoning 
Of twice ten thousand for the morrow’s march, 
Levied near by in London and the thorpes 
In sound of Bow Bells. Bid as many more 
To kiss their wives and hie to Coventry 
With all their hearts and what they have of arms 
If they ’re but sticks and stones. 

Cecil. But, good my liege, 

This is full half our force to quell a brawl. 

A tithe of it — trained soldiers — would this 
down 

In perfect surety. 

Eliz. Cecil, this our house 

Hath fire in its thatch ; we may not spare 
The water for its ending, — though ’t is red 
From true men’s hearts. Yea, soon from o’er the 
sea 

Be sure there comes a wind, — a mighty wind 
To set this smudge a roaring. It must out 
So swift it may. 


The Rival Queens 161 

Enter Sussex. 

Welcome, my Sussex, here ; 
T is good to see thine honest war-lined face 
We ’ve looked on other times we ’ve hailed you 
here. 

As now, for some hard deed. You know what’s 
forth. 

And what needs after it ? 

Sussex. My liege, I know 

The north hath risen, — Norfolk’s leagued with 
them, — 

Again they ’re forth in haste, all unprepared. 

We should them quickly down. 

Eliz. Yea, you know war ; 

But know not as do we how lies this land. 

Long stricken by a drought that hath dried up 
The hearts of men to tinder which a spark 
May set aflame. What burneth here and there 
We may stamp swiftly out; but for our end 
There needs hard after stroke. This rising comes 
Not from their overlords, but from base churls, — 
Dull hinds and cotters, who sleep on and on 
For generations, till some sudden fire 
Doth strangely catch them ; then they roar afar 
Like maddened beasts that new have learned their 
might. 


162 The Rival Queens 

In servile war. The betters know to halt 
In time to save them ; these we need to teach 
By fell example what it is to set 
Their arms against their law. 

Sussex. What would my liege ? 

Eliz. A lesson to be stamped upon this land 
So that, long years to come, men shall be still 
Upon a certain day when in law’s name 
Death came upon their homes, so that they tell 
All after doings from that fatal time 
Thus writ upon their souls. 

Sussex. It will be sore. 

Eliz. Ay, sore to us and you, — yet merciful. 
Would these wild folk were bred here by our 
side, 

Where they had known our love and in the change 
Of kindness waxed to be our England’s men ; 

But they are far and rude. We must have care, — 
They like not taste of blood, — or else we ’ll have 
Another Erin with no sea between. 

There ’s need of gibbet for the common herd. 

Set high upon the hills so they look down 
To every dale and cranny of those shires ; 

And eke the need of block for certain knaves. 
When this hard doing ’s o’er we will go there 
And show them else than master, — try to win 


163 


The Rival Queens 
A love that may blot out the mighty fear 
We need stamp in their hearts. 

Sussex. My liege sees clear 

What well the soldier knows, — how the hard 
hand 

Doth spare worst ills of war. 

Eliz. We would, my lord, 

This woman’s hand might spare her folk all war ; 
For that she ’d hold it in the bitter flame 
Until ’t was burned to dust. Forth to your task. 
We send you many, with the hope that use 
Will be but for the few ; the rest may learn 
Good lesson from your care, for other need 
That we ’ll soon reckon with. [Exit Sussex. 

\To Officer.] Go you, good soldier, back to that 
vile gaol 

Where true men wear their precious lives away 
In work for Satan. Bid our keeper there 
Set him for siege. 

Off. Good queen, so we have stayed 

These many years. 

Eliz. Alas, we too are sieged 

By mighty shadows of the war you wage. 

They ’re worse than living hosts. See to that lad : 
If he doth live, contrive to send him here ; 

If he be dead, grave for us on his stone, 


164 The Rival Queens 

‘ Here died a man for faith ; we ask no more/ 
Farewell, and hope for ransom. [Exit Officer. 

Oh Cecil, 

Where is the end of this ? 

Cecil. The end is near ; 

The storm ’s slow gathered, but the thunderbolts 
Are forged in the sky : they soon must fall 
And when their work is done we ’ll know the 
heaven 

And patient be, with God and His good world. 
Eliz. Yea, now she comes to judgment ; see it 
done. 

So justice be not shamed. What mercy claims 
Will reckon in fit time. 

SONG 

He was the heir of the morning , 

But he gave to earth his day ; 

Now he lies crowned ' neath a daisied mound 
On the hills of far away . 

He tossed his crown o'er the foeman ; 

We found it at end of day , 

And we laid him crowned ' neath that silent mound 
On the hills of far away . 

End of Scene. 


The Rival Queens 


165 


SCENE II 

Country near Windsor. 

Early morning . 

Queen, Sir Walter Ralegh, and others. 
Elizabeth. Come, my world farer, we will 
forth to see 

The portal of the way your fancy treads 

On to the gates of Ind. ]They go forth . 

Oh, how \ is brave 

As to it comes the sun, while yonder storm 
Sweeps as a mighty tide to other strands. 

Leaving our own empured. Smell of this earth, — 
The scent of rose and corn : the breath of youths 
And maidens yet unborn doth greet us here. 

What far land gives it sweeter ? 

Ralegh. Yea, ’t is good. 

*T is good because we read its promise true. 

That those who spring to life shall nobly live 
In the fair state ye found, that ye shall build 
Through the far ages while ye ever dwell 
The mistress of its deeds. 

Eliz. Let us go on, 

Rich in the incensed air of our own fields, 

That far away sends us but fleeting blooms ; 

Here flowers turn to fruit. 


i66 


The Rival Queens 

Ralegh. All noble days 

Are dreams of yesterdays that we bring true 
With valiant, hopeful deeds. We turn our earth 
And sow prevision’s seed with our good plows. 

Or in the seas with keels. It is our own 
Because we make it fruitful to our kind. 

And not for reason we shall in it lie 
At end of base forgetting of the tasks 
That life doth bid us do. 

Eliz. See, Ralegh, there 

The storm that went returns. The thunderbolts 
Smite croft and castle from its battle line ; 

We dare not on. 

Ralegh. Nay, nay, my liege, straight on : 

’T is but a thing of air. This earth is yours ; 
Castle and croft are here because brave storms 
Have beat upon them all the ages gone. 

Showing the way to strength. 

Eliz. I ’ll dare with you, 

And face it joyfully ; for it is here, 

And not beyond the seas ; for e’en these strokes 
That blind or rend us come from our own sky. 
The Lord hath made them ours. 

Ralegh. Ormus and Ind 

And all the fragrant realms of far Cathay 
Wait for the strength this tiny land hath won, — 


The Rival Queens 167 

The strength the mighty rule of order gives 
This fecund earth to yield its fruit in men. 

Our Lord awaits that we who are His seed 
Shall people them with justice. 

Eliz. Ah, my friend. 

There ’s all to do before this realm is fit 
To stay as pattern of that realm to be. 

Go thou about that task, and let yon wilds 
Shift as they may. The Lord hath never bid 
Our hearts or swords to trouble with their fate 
While our own lacks their help. 

Ralegh. My queen, dear liege, 

The man who suffers finds his cure in deeds 
Done for the other ; so too with a state : 

It heals itself in action that goes far 
Beyond its trodden shores of tide and time, 

And causes that are linked to hates and fears. 

Our youth here pine unrecking for a life 
Their heart blood longs for, — deeds of great em- 
prise 

That shall give empire to their land and ye, 

And make your crown the diadem of earth. 

Yea, when they go afar o’er unbroke seas, 

Leaving behind all else but English faith. 

They ’ll send us of their winnings hope and love 
To stay us ages on. 


i68 


The Rival Queens 
Eliz. Tell me, hath Spain 

Won from his Indes other than the gold 
Wherewith to curse his neighbour ? 

Ralegh. ’T is not our way 

To rob for might. Ay, we shall build there 
realms 

Linked to our own, — a chain to bind the world 
In a fair commerce, where each king and slave 
Shall look to us for friendship. 

Eliz. Walter, Walter, 

Back from that far Cathay, for here now lies 
A pool across our path, — more meaningful 
Because ’t is here. 

[Ralegh spreads his cloak ; Elizabeth 
crosses . 

Well thought, well done, my knight ; 
I like your visions better when I see 
They leave you wits for doing. But your cloak, — 
You leave it there? 

Ralegh. Ay, there, my queen, it stays ; 

Where he it covered willingly would lie. 

So you should onward go. 

Eliz. My courtier, 

Thou hast the art to phrase it with thy deeds 
As clear as with thy tongue. Thou art alone. 
Ralegh. Nay, mistress, not alone. I speak for 
all, 


The Rival Queens 169 

Of age and youth who love this land and you, 
And for their love would make our England 
sure 

By planted might upon all lands and seas. * 

Within their hearts are empires they will sow 
With their brave deeds if you but bid them on 
For faith and land. Yea, never in this world 
Held king in leash such might to win a way 
Unto far sovereignty. 

Enter Cecil. 

Eliz. Welcome, my Cecil. We were in Ca- 
thay, 

A-winning empires with our very nod, — 

And some slight touch of purse and sword withal. 
You hale us back. Good ; we have here a guide 
Who shows us way to fortune past the seas 
Upon a tide that bears mayhap to peace. 

Ralegh. That tide, my liege, will bear us past 
these ills. 

Eliz. What is it, Cecil ? 

Cecil. Need to save this realm 

By a swift doing of what ’s long undone. 

Eliz. I ’m ever doing and undone while here ; 

I 'll forth with him and found a kingdom new 
To traitors’ doings. Now we ’ll to our task. 

[Exit all but Ralegh. 


1 70 The Rival Queens 

Ralegh \alone \ . This is a stubborn land for those 
who plan, 

However deft their tongues and wits may be 
To shape far deeds. Better to be a clod, 

To wait the share and seed and nothing ask 
But sun and rain, than thus to see afar 
The visions that lack but a touch of hand 
To stay forever in their stateliness, — 

Wealth to enrich and honour to enfold 

The offerings of ages thus put by 

That we may nurse the evils of a day 

A well sent stroke would end. There is the chance 

That Spain comes soon to greet us. He will back. 

And in the reflux of that wave we ’ll go 

Forth from this cabinage to win our world. 

So rolls the tide of time ; its flooding sweeps 
Old empires from their shores to bear the wreck 
Where those who dare adventures may rebuild 
The flotsam to new states. Be welcome, Spain ! 
Send us your guns to batter down these walls, 

So we may through the breaches to wide realms. 
We ’ll make ye pilot to that fended main, 

And bless ye while ye smite for service done. 

End of Scene . 


The Rival Queens 


171 


SCENE III 

Audience Room of Queen. 

Queen and Davison. 

Elizabeth. Quick with these burthens, let us 
have them by ; 

For I ’m sore weary of this work of doom. 

[Davison gives her papers . 
Here, first, new patents for Lord Petrie’s lands. 

I give them willingly, for such a foe 

Adorns our realm ; he ’s better than most friends. 

He asks for this ? 

Davison. Nay, nay, my liege, not he ; 

He grumbles that you gave him not his due 
In passage swift to where his friends are sped. 

He hath some comfort from the few who bide. 

In fair debates, begun in Paget’s house : 

He’s spitted five since you have set him free, — 
One for each day. 

Eliz. Can you not bring him here 

To take our thanks for service ? We would see 
This ancient marvel. 

Dav. Leave him where he is 

To daunt their treachery in his brave way. 
Contending for fair field and open deeds 
Such as befits his kind. 


172 The Rival Queens 

Eliz. What have we here ? 

A pardon for that preacher ? Let him go 
To rant his worst ; for we have else to fear 
Than rattle of cracked brains. Hot Gospeller ? 

An ancient name that rang before our time ; 

Is it the same ? 

Dav. Ay, it was he who gave 

The stroke that hurled Sir Thomas from the gate 
And sent him to his doom. 

Eliz. That was well done, — 

Hot Gospel in fit place, — let him preach on 
As master Knox, if he doth so perform 
When comes the time for deeds. [Signs. 

What have we next ? 
To clear attaint from Norfolk’s heirs ? We know 
That breed hath sent us peril, yet from it 
True men have come to us. [Signs. 

And now we have ? 
Great God ! — you ask my warrant for that deed ? 
So ye go stealing softly to your end : 

First I should gaol her lest she fire this land ; 

Then that the judgment rest upon her head 
To show the world her sin, — no more than 
that, — 

No further step ye cried ; and now ye come 
As fawning headsmen, pleading for the axe. 


The Rival Queens 173 

To hell, with all your pack! Ye would these 
hands 

Stain with that kindred blood, indelible 
For all the age to come. 

Dav. Reckon, my queen, 

As we all must, with fate ; and see our woe. 

If that fair demon come to rule this land. 

All we have done to fend it from dire ills 
Will serve to make them worse. 

Eliz. Is there no man 

With heart to spare his queen this mortal shame 
With answer to the strokes sent ’gainst her life ? 
Dav. Nay, there is none ; true faith will grant 
us none 

In all this land to smite without the law. 

Eliz. Ay, they are right. This torment of my 
soul 

Sends me with thee to hell, to seek foul help 
And find my shame. 

Dav. My liege, in this rude sea 

There is but one true course ; it is straight on. 

If there be shame, it is behind us now 
In that we cannot change. What ’s now to do 
Is summing deeds ; the faithful reckoning 
That changes not the score, but gives account 
Unto all time of what we strove to do 


174 The Rival Queens 

For England’s safety. The tale is black enough. 
But ’t will be blacker if we go not on 
Whereto our actions send us. 

Eliz. Yea, I see 

What comes the morrow of my day in shame 
To all this land, — ruin to all we’ve planned. 
Fierce warring creeds and alien legions here. 

With Jezebel upon the Tudor throne. 

And yet I cannot strike to see her head 
Roll at my feet to gape there till I die. 

Oh, what a sight ! 

Dav. Dear liege, sign then to save 

All that we treasure in your noble deeds 
That make you England’s mother ; sign, that we 
have 

A sword to smite that danger if it threats ; 

To guard your throne and keep it firm and high 
As you have made it. All the rest we take 
Upon our backs, making the deed our own. 

Our own the penance, be it with our lives, 

For what comes of it. 

Eliz. What say they, — my folk ? 

Dav. My liege, the men who stand against 
affront 

Of all our open foes begin to quail 
Before this tireless spectre, — see their fate 


*75 


The Rival Queens 
Writ in the skies that hang o’er yonder sea. 

They know their chains are forging, and they ask 
How Tudor kings of old met ills like this, 

Their oaths swore them to fend, — how long thy 
sire 

Had parleyed with this peril in his realm. 

My liege, they strangely doubt. 

Eliz. So, then, ’t is time 

To show that Henry’s child hath his true heart, 
For all she is a woman and would save 
Where he had slain unrecking. They ’ll not doubt 
Whence came the queen they hearse. Yea, I will 
sign, 

Bring it damnation. 

[Signs and casts the parchment away ; 
Davison lifts the writ . 

Dav. My liege, we take the trust. 

Eliz. Forth with that shame ! 

Or I shall rend thee for thy villain wit. 

That stole my sovereign will to make me slave 
Of fawning masters. 

Dav. My queen ! 

Eliz. Away ! away ! [Exit Davison. 

End of Scene . 


176 


The Rival Queens 


SCENE IV 

Gate of Palace. 

Cecil, Walsingham, and troop of lancemen . 
Enter Davison. 

Walsingham [to Davison]. ’T is done? 
Davison [holding warrant ]. Ay, if it be not 
undone as I am. 

Cecil. The ink is wet ; hold it awhile to sun. 
It must bide clear. 

Wal. It shall not blot : 

We ’ll dry it with the sand beside the axe 
When it has fallen. [To Davison.] Get ye quick 
to horse ; 

Your escort ’s ready. Ride on swift and hard : 

We know what follows ere the night comes 
down. 

Dav. She signed it ’gainst the chance that she 
may die. 

’T is when that danger ’s here that we may strike. 
Cecil. We judge that danger, and we know it 
near ; 

For years it is upon us. If e’er time 
Burst with insistent need, ’t is in this day. 

Forth, ’t is no time for words. 


The Rival Queens 177 

Dav. If God’s grace keep 

My head between my shoulders for a day, 

I ’ve done with this ; ’t is yours to see the end 
That proves me traitor to my word. 

Cecil. Straight on : 

One goeth to the deep, while two stay here 
Upon the brink to help him. When ’tis done 
There ’ll be a better day, and then we ’ll find 
The comfort that the surgeon’s knife e’er brings 
After the sore is out. 

Wal. On for our lives ; 

For half this deed is worse than all will be 
When all is done. The risk is that we fail 
With such a venture tried. A troop is sped 
To clear the way lest they may seek to bar 
Suspected coming. They ’ll bid Paulet make 
All ready for the end. Another goes 
Close on your heels as nimble highwaymen 
To stay all afterthoughts, though well they ride. 

As sign that it is done let beacons flame 
From hill to hill, and never will the sun 
Come cheerier to eyes than their good light 
Unto our loyal hearts. 

Dav. [reflecting]. Yea, I will go. 

This road hath never turning till its end 
Stoops down to hell. 


178 The Rival Queens 

Wal. Spur on and dare the leap. 

The chance is there. [Exit Davison. 

God help us if he fails. 

Cecil. He hath the mettle of the steed he 
rides, — 

Tugging at bit until he is away, 

And then an arrow that swerves not to winds 
That baffle common shafts. Ay, we shall stand 
In safety on her grave. 

Wal. And ’scape our own. 

Cecil. Yet I would glad to mine were that the 
way 

To ’scape the shame and horror of this deed, 
Indelible for aye. 

End of Scene . 

SCENE V 

Hall at Richmond. 

Elizabeth, Attendants . 

Elizabeth [to Chamberlain]. We bade thee 
send our Walsingham to us ; 

Hast found him yet ? 

Chamberlain. My liege, I ’ve sought in vain 
Near and afar ; some say this noon he rode 
Unto his seat a score of miles away. 

He is commanded here. 


v The Rival Queens 179 

Eliz. Where ’s Davison ? 

Bid him attend at once. 

Cham. I haste, my liege. 

Eliz. Give better proof of that than what we Ve 
had. [Exit Chamberlain. 

[To Lady in Waiting.] Why bear ye all the 
face of folk who wait 

Some clap from thundercloud ? What wait ye 
here ? 

Lady. Dear Queen, a court is but a glass that 
sends 

The sovereign’s image back. All wait to see 
That ye are joyful. 

Eliz. They must bide for that 

Until — 

Reenter Chamberlain. 

What now ? 

Cham. My liege, it is well known 

He ’s forth unto the north with force of men, 
Riding full hard. 

Eliz. God ’s death ! there ’s treason here. 

Where is our Cecil ? 

Cham. On yon balcony. 

Shall he be summoned ? 

Eliz. Nay, we ’ll seek him there. 

End of Scene. 


180 The Rival Queens 

SCENE VI 

Balcony. 

Cecil, looking fixedly at London in distance . 
Enter Queen, unnoticed . She regards him awhile , 
then touches him sharply . 

Elizabeth. Cecil, you look afar into the night. 
You seek a star that sets ? 

Cecil. My queen, I seek 

A nobler star that rises. ’T is your own 
That should soar up above yon horizon. 

See there the shadow of the mighty Tower, 
Dwelling in night. Thus dwells it e’en in day, 

So stood it in that score of years ago 
When England’s lass lay as a captive there 
And all the portents omened death to her 
And woe unto this land. Then came a light 
From o’er far hills, — the beacon to the host, 

That brought her safety with the lion hearts 
Of her own folk. Once more the need is here, 

So watch we once again. Look forth, my queen, 
Into the north : your eyes are young and clear ; 
Mine own are old and weary of their task 
Of lifetime peering into darkened ways. 

Comes ought to sight ? 


The Rival Queens 181 

Eliz. Ay, on yon farthest hill 

Is flickering spark that trembles to a light 
As a faint star comes up. Another starts 
From crest beside the town, a tongue of flame. 
What means this, Cecil ? 

Cecil. That tongue hath speech, my queen. 
Eliz. Now from the city bursts the clang of 
bells 

In peals of joy that echo in the roar 
Of hosts who start from slumber with a shout 
As if an ugly dream had ushered day. 

See how the bonfires flare their banners out 
To gild the myriad spires and parapets 
And crowd the sky with stars. What doth it mean ? 
Cecil. That we should bow us to our God, and 
pray 

Peace to the soul that passed to bring this joy 
Unto a folk long agonized in fear 
That justice parted from them, — that their faith 
Went to the pit, their fields unto the foe 
Who racked their lives of old. ’T is dead, my 
queen, — 

The demon that hath sat by every door 
These ages long. It lies upon the bier 
Where we have laid your sister. One stroke slew. 
Alas ! their lives were one. 


182 The Rival Queens 

Eliz. Cecil, what hast thou done ? 

Cecil. My duty, queen, and yours unto this 
realm. 

For that this shame was done. Shame it must 
be, — 

Sore cross until we die. Yea, till men die 
From out this world ; for she was brave and fair, 
And ever will her eyes reproachfully 
Call to our hearts. Yet will all true hearts know 
The pang of those who smote for faith and land. 

[Elizabeth looks fixedly at rejoicing city ; 
then kneels . 


End of The Rival Queens. 


EPILOGUE 


HAT adamant was shaped in their 
frames 

To make their very ghosts, — their 
empty names 
Send cheer adown the ages as the sun 
Quickens the void with time outduring flames 

So that the man who gasps finds Sidney there, 
Kneeling beside him in the eternal care 
Of prophet for his people, with the help 
That doth the hero upward, onward bear. 

The might of life was in them, — might of God 
That leadeth man above the teeming sod 
To set him captain of earth’s glorious hosts 
That forth upon the way the Master trod. 

They question not of glory in their deeds. 

They reckon not who triumphs or who bleeds 
His life away in silence by the dead. 

But life to life in endless faith succeeds. 



184 Epilogue 

Ye masters of our doing, in our deeps 
Your mighty spirit, hidden, onward creeps 
Until it breaks from darkness to the light 
And as the sun unto its empire sweeps. 

Blest are the folk who hear their prophets cry, 
March with those captains as they forth to die, 
Or catch the might that goes with hero’s breath 
And set their feet on ways wherein they hie. 










<&fie 

Electrotyped and printed by H. O. Houghton &* Co. 
Cambridge , Mass., U. S. A. 






NOV 7 1903 










































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OPY OF.L. TO CAT. DiV. 
NOV. T 1903 


NOV 12 1903 









































